


The Effects of Gravity

by a_fearsome_thing



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and some abuse of scientific concepts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fearsome_thing/pseuds/a_fearsome_thing
Summary: In which Shiro learns all the ways gravity is at play in his life, for better or worse.or: A Case Study of the Varying Effects of Gravity Relative to the Life of Takashi Shirogane as Observed by the HoltsChapter One: On the Nature of Time (In which a rescue happens and a revelation occurs)Chapter Two: On the Weight of a Burden (In which a meeting is interrupted and Sam steps in)Chapter Three: On the Formation of the Universe (In which they finally get a break)





	1. On the Nature of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an idea for a headcanon that I thought would be fun to explore but not adopt as true, which proceeded to spiral out of control. The physics of it will not stand to intense scrutiny. No Laws of Physics were harmed in the making of this fic, although they are probably incredibly insulted.

Shiro blinks as Pidge shouts his name, sprinting into the training room and nearly barreling into Keith. She stumbles to a stop as Keith throws his bayard to the side so that he can catch and steady her without running her through on his sword.

Shiro lets his arm deactivate and lowers his hands from their defensive position. Bemused, he brushes his sweaty bangs back and studies Pidge with eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. She doesn’t seem concerned, just elated, but he doesn’t remember her having any projects that she was actively working on. In fact, at breakfast, she’d mentioned that she was going to focus on the information they’d recently collected from the Galra.

A realization clicks into place in his mind, but before the question can make its way from brain to mouth, Pidge has pulled free of Keith’s hold and is flinging herself at Shiro’s neck with tears streaming down her face. He tenses momentarily but catches her, arms automatically there to hold her steady.

She’s muttering something into his neck, and Shiro pulls back just a little to hear her saying “I found them” repeatedly, disbelief and joy clear in her voice. It’s like being bludgeoned. His mouth goes dry.

“You…” he cranes his neck to try to get a glimpse of her face, “Matt and Commander Holt?”

He feels her nod and tightens his grip, “Pidge that’s amazing!” A laugh escapes entirely unbidden and a beaming smile breaks out across his face. Shiro swings Pidge around in a quick circle, unable to contain the rush of happiness coursing through him. Their impromptu spin startles a laugh out of Pidge. “You found them!”

Pidge loosens her hold and shimmies back down to the ground, looking back up to meet his smile with shining eyes and a truly blinding smile of her own. Pride and hope war inside of him for pride of place, and all Shiro can do with the emotion bursting in his chest is keep grinning down at her.

“So what’s the plan?”

Keith’s question breaks through their happy bubble, forcing them to look away from each other and over to where he is now standing, jacket slung over one shoulder and bayard resituated at his waist. Sweat is still shining on his forehead, and Shiro is brought to a sudden awareness of how gross he is. From the look on her face, Pidge just registered it, too.

“They’re in a work camp, right?” Keith continues. “Can we free if from the Galra?”

Pidge begins to swell with rage at the implication that they might not even _try_ , but Shiro puts a quelling hand on her shoulder to stifle any immediate outburst. She bristles like an angry cat but stays silent.

“Keith’s right. We need to be smart.” Shiro needs to control himself in a way he hadn’t when rescuing Allura. Keith may have said it insensitively, but he hadn’t necessarily been wrong back then, either. Shiro had let his emotions and guilt drive him, and it had ended in barely salvageable disaster. Shiro shakes off the memories and focuses. “Pidge, get all the information you can find on the Galran forces in that area, including any systems close enough to offer aid. Ask Coran what he knows. Keith and I will shower and meet you on the bridge.”

He squeezes Pidge’s shoulder, and she responds by quickly throwing her arms around his waist in a brief hug before she sprints off, roughly bumping Keith as she passes him. Keith scowls after her, rubbing his arm. Shiro steps up beside him.

“Don’t worry about her. She knows you’re right; she’s just worried for her family,” he advises.

Keith nods, shrugging, “I know. It’s Pidge.” He pauses, and then looks up at Shiro with concern clear in the furrow of his brow. “Are _you_ ok, Shiro?”

It’s a fair question, considering his history. Shiro allows his eyes to close and takes a deep breath, the reality of it all finally hitting him. Six months. It has been six months—only six? With all that’s happened, Shiro always feels like it’s been longer—since his escape, and they’re going to rescue his team.

“I’m great, Keith,” Shiro says, a real smile on his face as he opens his eyes to meet Keith’s gaze. Keith won’t believe he’s being honest, otherwise. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and his smile softens, saying simply, “Thanks.”

Keith nods and looks away, still awkward with praise or gratitude. He never knows what to do with it. Shiro laughs, not unkindly, and ruffles his hair. He immediately regrets it, just a little, when his hand comes in contact with the sweaty mess on Keith’s head, but the pleasure in Keith’s eyes as he ducks away almost makes it worth it.

“Let’s hit the showers. You’re disgusting, Paladin.” He jokingly pushes Keith toward the door and meets Keith’s scowl with a bland smile.

Keith shoves Shiro right back. “You’re one to talk, _Lieutenant_ ,” he retorts, easily falling into their old patterns. Together, they make their way out of the training room to their separate showers.

Despite his relaxed exchange with Keith, Shiro rushes through his shower and is at the bridge within 10 minutes. Keith isn’t far behind, and it sends a burst of warmth through Shiro at how well Keith knows him.

By the time they’ve both arrived, the rest of the team is waiting. Hunk and Lance are quietly talking to one side and Allura, Coran, and Pidge are clustered around one section of the star map. Pidge is gesticulating enthusiastically at certain areas while Coran listens intently, stroking his chin and nodding. Shiro wonders absently if Lance is still trying to get him to stroke his mustache instead.

Hunk and Lance look up as they enter, and Shiro smiles over at them. Lance beams back. Hunk gives a small smile and wave. Both of them follow when Shiro and Keith head towards the other group. Allura glances over as they approach.

“Shiro, Keith,” she greets, “We have located the planet where Pidge believes her family is being held.” She gestures to the small grouping in front of them, pointing out one planet in particular. Pidge and Coran are populating the space around it and a nearby moon with ships. It doesn’t escape Shiro’s notice that Pidge’s mouth flattened into an unforgiving line when Allura said “believes.”

If her family isn’t there, Pidge is going to be hit hard.

“There’s not many Galra,” Coran says, stepping back to study the fleet he’s finished putting in close to the planet. “A small base on this moon here, but many of the planets around have just a small contingent stationed on them. No long range message capabilities except on this one satellite moon.” Coran strokes his mustache in thought, and Shiro practically feels Lance vibrating with excitement behind him. Allura is eyeing him in confusion but nothing more, so Shiro leaves it alone. “This fleet appears to be their main show of force for the entire sector.”

“Easy peasy,” Lance says, slapping a hand on Keith’s back. Keith blinks but accepts it, slowly getting used to the casual and affectionate, if often violent, touches of the other paladins.

“It’ll be like the Balmera, right?” Hunk asks, leaning over Pidge to study the display. Pidge swats at him but he persists, “Just without the giant scare beast monster with lasers and crazy eyes.”

“And without anyone’s girlfriend,” Lance smirks. His gaze shifts smoothly from Hunk to Shiro, “Unless…”

“Lance,” Shiro says in a warning tone, expression flat. Lance usually doesn’t try to target him and always has terrible timing when he does. Keith shifts at his side.

Pidge ignores all of them. “We were thinking a two-pronged attack, three of the Lions going after the moon base—“

“Moon base!” Lance exclaims, cutting her off. Pidge hits him right in the gut, and then continues as if nothing had happened. Shiro sighs, knowing he should say something but also that it would make no difference at the moment, so he lets it go for now.

“The other two and the Castle will focus on the fleet. That way we take out their long range communication, and they can’t call for back up.” She looks up at Shiro, clearly seeking his approval. He frowns, brows furrowed and arms crossed as he studies the organization of the Galra.

“Lance and I will stay with the Castle. Pidge and Hunk will target the base. Aim first for their communication relay. Keith, I want you to make a first pass over the planet. Try to draw their fire only if safe and it looks like they’re turning on the prisoners. We don’t want anyone getting hurt during this rescue. If you need any help at all, and I mean it, Keith, _any_ , you call us.”

Shiro pins Keith with a stare until he nods, frowning. Shiro knows Keith remembers the fight with Zarkon and the lecture he got afterwards from Coran about pulling back when ordered, but Keith also has a habit of getting in over his head and not calling for help. It’s a hard one to break, and Shiro is determined to make him do it.

“Should we be splitting up like that?” Hunk asks over Pidge’s loud protestations that she wants to be the one to go planet-side, _she_ has the stealth. “What if we need Voltron?”

“Keith is the better pilot,” Shiro says, addressing Pidge first. “We need you taking out communications.” And with someone who would know to keep an eye on her if she got reckless. “We should be close enough to quickly reach each other if we need Voltron.”

“Splitting our forces is likely our best approach,” Allura says, considering, “but Keith shall wait until at least one of the other teams is in a good enough position to give him aid, unless the situation on the surface seems dire. We don’t want anyone where backup is unable to assist them.”

“Good thinking, Princess,” Shiro concedes. He turns to face the rest of the Paladins, hands on his hips. “Anyone have any changes?”

In a rare moment of complete seriousness, the team remains quiet, shaking their heads. Pidge is family to all of them now and her mission to find her father and brother is personal, to everyone.

The emotions roiling in his gut remind Shiro that Matt and Commander Holt are like family to him, too. As if he could forget. His right fist clenches spasmodically.

“Well!” Coran says, interrupting Shiro’s thoughts and clapping his hands together. “We have roughly…” he pauses, counting his fingers, “seventy dobashes, or one of your Earth hours before we arrive just on the other side of that moon there. Get a quick rest, have some healthy Paladin energy boost goo, and then we’ll get you to your Lions! We have a rescue to perform!”

“Yeah!” they all cheer, fists pumping into the air. There’s a beat before they awkwardly lower their hands and slowly move towards the door, disbanding to go their own separate ways to prepare for the upcoming battle.

~*~*~*~*~

In what seems like no time at all, they are all gathered in their respective lion’s hangers, listening as Allura prepares to exit out of the wormhole.

“All right, team,” Shiro pulls up the view screens in Black, the determined faces of the other Paladins popping into existence. “I know this one’s personal, but we have to keep our focus. Don’t be reckless. We have to trust each other to be able to do our jobs. Keith, you go on my signal, got it? Wait just outside the atmosphere. Be ready. Any questions?” There is silence. Shiro gives them a grim smile. “Then let’s do this! Team Voltron!”

“Yeah!” comes the collective response at the same time that the hanger doors open and each of the Lions shoots out, heading for their targets.

Shiro spares a moment to watch worriedly after Pidge, but he trusts her to keep her head and Hunk to reel her back if need be. Hopefully Keith will be able to maintain his patience enough to hold position without entering the battle. He’s come a long way but recklessly rushing into a fight is still his instinctual reaction.

Shiro does the other Paladins, but maybe he and Lance should be as fast as possible, just on this mission. Just in case. He summons Black’s jaw blade.

“Let’s do this, Lance!” Shiro calls, pushing Black’s thrusters and shooting forward towards the fleet.

“woooo!” is Lance’s response as he spins out to Black’s side, summoning Blue’s ice cannon.

“The Castle will provide cover fire for you while you two focus on the flagship,” Allura instructs over the comms, “We can’t have them sending out a distress signal.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shiro responds, disengaging Black’s blade from a ship and darting her upwards to escape the resulting explosion.

Shiro and Lance flank the battlecruiser, weaving between laser fire as they work to devastate the ship from either side. The Castle lays down fire on the smaller fighters working to hinder them.

“Pidge got their comm tower! I’m taking out the hanger now so you guys shouldn’t have to worry about back up from here,” Hunk reports.

“We won’t even need Voltron for this,” Lance says, exuberant, “We’re awesome!”

“Alright, hotshot,” Shiro reprimands, “Keep focused, remember?”

“On what?” Lance shoots back, blowing up another fighter. Shiro has to admit that he has a point. The flagship is crippled and as he watches, a shot from the Castle finishes it off. The remaining drones are in disarray, easy pickings for the Lions.

“Keith?”

“On it, Shiro,” Keith acknowledges with a vicious sort of delight. Shiro sees the Red Lion streak into the atmosphere and disappear beneath cloud cover.

“Don’t forget to drop those BLIP sensors if you feel there is underground activity!” Coran calls. There’s a slight commotion over the radio that is most likely Allura politely trying to shove Coran back out of her way. There wasn’t anything in the reports to suggest underground mining, but they figured it’s better to be prepared; they’ve had enough surprises from supposedly abandoned or peaceful places.

“Doesn’t look like that’s necessary,” Keith says, clearly distracted. “All the guard posts have been above ground and, uh, I think word is getting out that we’re here.”

Shiro’s attention is torn momentarily away from the fighter in front of him as concern lances through his chest. He quickly has to roll out of the way of a laser and presses forward to finish it off. “Keith, status report. Do you need help?”

Keith hadn’t sounded concerned, just distracted, but sometimes Shiro thinks that should really be the same thing for the Red Paladin. Limits are things that escape him; it’s partly what makes him such an excellent pilot—and fighter—and partly what had started to age Shiro before his time even during the Galaxy Garrison days.

Shiro is already turning to take full stock of the space battle and everyone’s position and availability for assistance when Keith responds.

“No, Shiro, it’s not the guards. It’s the prisoners! It looks like they’re rebelling.”

“What?” Pidge shouts, “They’re doing what? I’m coming down there!”

“Pidge! Hold your position. You can’t just abandon Hunk,” Shiro orders, feeling control slipping out of his hands.

“Nah, I’m coming, too, Shiro,” Hunk cuts in. “We’re done here. I’ll come meet up with you and Lance.”

The Green Lion streaks by, descending down to the planet like a shot. Shiro sighs, frustration filling him. They’re going to have to talk about this.

“Negative, Hunk. You head down with Keith and Pidge. We’re almost done here.” Plus, the idea of an emotional Pidge along with revolting prisoners and only Keith to keep a level head—Keith, who was more likely to shrug and join her than to dissuade her—meant they could probably use the more cautious Hunk down there.

“Got it, Shiro.” The Yellow Lion flies by, also quickly obscured by clouds.

True to his estimates, Shiro and Lance are only minutes behind them all while the Castle hangs back to wait for an all clear.

Immediately, Shiro can see that Keith was right. The planet seems like a combination of forest, farm, and mountain with fences and equipment clearly delineating the differing work camps. The Galran outposts stationed around each quadrant are overrun by prisoners. They swarm the structures, wielding weapons stolen from the Galra or improvised from whatever they apparently had on hand.

The rebels seem to have everything under control, and they cheer when they see the Lions fly by, so Lance and Shiro leave them be. Instead, they fly a short distance longer until they see where the others are gathered, Lions landed and shields down.

“Keith?” Shiro tries, needing to get a handle on the situation.

“All clear, Shiro. You’ll want to get down here,” is the frustratingly vague response.

“You heard that, Princess?” Shiro asks.

“Loud and clear, Number One,” Coran responds. “We’re coming down now.”

The others are finally coming into view, and the sight of them all out of their Lions with Pidge unmistakably held between two taller figures sends Shiro’s heart leaping into his throat. His heartbeat thunders in his ears.

Time blurs and skips until suddenly Black has lowered her hatch to let him out. Shiro freezes in his seat, doubt and fear hitting him like a blow to the gut. What if…

He shakes the thought out of his head before it can reach completion. What if had never served him well before, and he can see Keith looking curiously over at Black as Shiro fails to emerge. Lance is already out of Blue and has made his way over to the small group, slapping Hunk on the back. There’s a strained but genuine smile on his face as he watches the reunion taking place in front of them.

Shiro takes a deep breath to center himself and shoves his doubts and guilt down in his chest, sticking a smile on his face. He owes this to them. He takes another deep breath and descends from Black, removing his helmet as he goes.

His approach catches the attention of the embracing trio and causes Matt to look up from where his face had been partially pressed into Pidge’s hair. Shiro fights the urge to freeze again as he catches Matt’s eye. Tears stream down Matt’s dirty face from wide eyes. His jaw gapes open.

“Shiro?” he chokes out, and Commander Holt’s head rises quickly, gaze landing on Shiro with the same level of shock. Before Shiro can muster together even a part of a sentence, an identical smile breaks across both of their faces. Matt pulls away from Pidge and nearly bowls Shiro over as he flings himself at his former pilot in the exact same way Pidge had only hours ago.

“Shiro!” he shouts, ignoring or just not noticing Shiro’s flinch at the sudden attack. “You’re alive! We thought…” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Shiro to know exactly what he means. Shiro had feared the same thing for months, at the very least.

“No, Matt, no.” Shiro hugs him back, gripping his best friend tightly. “I beat him. I didn’t die. I beat Myzax.” Shiro closes his eyes against the pang that Matt has been living with that all this time, but Matt shakes his head against Shiro’s chest and pulls back. He doesn’t go any further than arm’s reach, Shiro notices, and he leaves one hand on Shiro’s shoulder as if he doesn’t want to stop touching him.

Shiro can relate.

Matt shakes his head again, “No, no, I knew that. Well. We figured that out. Only thought I’d basically condemned you for a couple of days.” Shiro makes a choked noise that Matt waves off. “I meant four months ago is when we thought you died.”

“Four months?” Shiro asks. His brows furrow as he thinks back. What happened four months ago? He’d been with team Voltron then. Matt must notice the complete lack of understanding on Shiro’s face—an expression he is familiar with from the Kerberos mission—because his hand jumps to the back of his head in a gesture that _Shiro_ is very familiar with.

“Well. Four months our time, anyway. We’ll have to do some calculations to figure out…” Matt trails off at the look on Shiro’s face. He’s not sure what it’s doing, but he can’t imagine it’s anything good.

He’s completely lost, but something like dread is beginning to roil in his gut. He glances around at the other Paladins. Lance and Hunk are whispering to each other, Keith is mouthing “our time” to himself with furrowed brows, and Pidge…Pidge’s eyes are shining like the complicated code she was working on just clicked into place. That doesn’t actually settle Shiro’s dread at all, and he slowly turns back to Matt, who looks rather regretful. Commander Holt is at Matt’s shoulder now, sympathy plain on his face.

Shiro’s throat tightens. He swallows past it with effort.

“What happened four months ago? What do you mean ‘your time’?” Something tickles the back of his mind, memories of classes at the Garrison and memories of his time with the Galra, a niggling doubt he hasn’t mentioned to anyone.

The nagging feeling that he’s older than 23.

“How long have you been looking for us?” Commander Holt asks instead of answering. The return of the oft-used technique should be comforting, but Shiro’s not sure he actually wants to know the answers. He won’t lie; he’s afraid. But he is also the Black Paladin, the decisive head of Voltron. Even before all that, he is Takashi Shirogane and he hates not knowing.

“I escaped six months ago. We’ve been looking ever since. Pidge—Katie—has been investigating for about a year and a half now,“ Shiro says. Commander Holt nods, unsurprised but immeasurably saddened. Shiro can see it in his face as he reaches out for Pidge, who goes easily to his side.

“I have been here on this planet for 349 days now. The day cycle is roughly 24 hours.” He hesitates and every single one of Shiro’s muscles goes tense. Commander Holt does not pause unless he is being careful of damaging something—or someone. “Matt arrived three days after I did.”

Shiro’s brain stops, skips and sparks, and restarts. His world spins beyond his comprehension.

_“Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”_

_“I don’t know. Months? Years?”_

“No,” he denies, shaking his head as if that can bring a sense of reality back, “I remembered that. We tried to keep track of time together. We used your method. It was two weeks—we couldn’t have been that far off.” Shiro knew his perception of time had been altered in the cells, but two weeks to three days? That was more than a little off. He feels almost desperate to grab hold of any other conclusion.

“We weren’t, Shiro,” Matt says apologetically. The world spins tighter for a moment, then crashes down around him. There’s a rush of blood in his ears and nothing else. The numbers don’t make sense. They can’t, because if two weeks had gone by to Commander Holt’s three days, if they’ve been here for less than a year even though Pidge has been looking for them for a year and a half, if time is not, in fact, consistent—relative, he distantly recalls—then that means…

_“Time becomes a blue. Some for years.  Decades, even._ ”

A hand lands on his shoulder, and Shiro instinctively flinches away, hands rising defensively. His breathing is ragged as he stares wide-eyed at Keith, who of course is the one who approached him.

“Sorry,” Shiro chokes out, “I’m fine.” He’s still breathing too fast and a fine tremor is overtaking his hands, but he’s fine. Nothing’s really changed, after all. He crosses his arms to hide the shaking and studiously ignores the concerned tilt of Keith’s mouth, Commander Holt’s sympathy, Hunk’s dawning horror.

He’s not sure whether he managed to pull off looking authoritative or just uncomfortable, but thankfully everyone’s attention is diverted as the Castle of Lions comes into view. It lands nearby in a wide open field. Shiro grasps gratefully to the distraction and turns back to Commander Holt, smoothing his face into something calm and forcing himself to meet his old commanding officer’s eyes.

“Was there someone who led this rebellion? Who were the organizers?” Shiro asks, working to inject the Leader back into his tone. It falls short, and he feels the shame rise when no one shows any sign of reacting to his failings. How commonplace did his lapses have to be that his team was no longer fazed by the moments his mind betrayed him and he froze up?

Matt laughs, and Shiro will always be grateful to Matt Holt. “That would be Dad. He and a couple of the others started really planning once the Galra kept talking about Voltron and looking nervous. We had no idea it was a group of robot lions, but we knew it was helping people and the Galra didn’t like it. We decided we should be ready in case it—you came for us.”

Despite everything, Shiro feels a flicker of warmth, pride in his team piercing through the turbulence like a ray of sunshine. It’s good to know they’re making a difference, even if some of it is just spreading hope.

“That’s great,” Shiro says, although the better word might be convenient. “Ok. Do you have a way to contact them? Commander Holt will meet with them and Allura and Coran. Sorry, Pidge, I promise you’ll have time for a better reunion later.” Shiro is distracted from coordinating the diplomatic meeting as he sees the Castle doors opening and Allura and Coran disembarking. He just had to finish here and then he could go find somewhere alone to process.

“Yes, sir.” Matt’s amused tone breaks through Shiro’s distraction, and he blinks back into full awareness. Matt is managing to look both concerned and entertained, which makes Shiro quirk an eyebrow up in an unspoked question before he realizes that, oh. He just…

His face flushes and he turns to Commander Holt, who is even more embarrassingly looking at him like a proud parent. Shiro is sure he’s scarlet now, and he can hear Lance muffling laughter behind him.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean, of course you should, it’s your decision who should meet with whom, Commander Holt.” Shiro is tripping over his words and he wants to die. Lance is in gales of laughter now, and Matt and Pidge are wearing identical smirks. Shiro fights the urge to cover his face.

He’s going to have no dignity or respect after this.

“Takashi, it’s alright. We are no longer on the Kerberos mission. Indeed, we are well beyond the realm of the Galaxy Garrison. I dare say that you have more authority in this situation than I.” Commander Holt pats a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done amazingly well, Paladin of Voltron.”

A rush of emotions, too many to untangle, breaks through the numb apathy cracked by his embarrassment, and it nearly bowls Shiro over. He is officially at his limit for the moment.

He nods, lump in his throat, and Commander Holt pats his shoulder once more before pulling away, perhaps recognizing how close Shiro is to shattering where he stands.

Allura and Coran arrive before anyone else can say anything.

“Allura, Coran, this is Commander Samuel Holt and Matt, Pidge’s father and brother,” Shiro greets mechanically, entirely beyond his ability to know if he should be conducting the introductions, or if it is Pidge’s privilege to do so. He just can’t care right now. “They are two of the leaders of the rebellion. Please, excuse me.”

It is rude and unbefitting of an officer of the Garrison or of the Black Paladin of Voltron, but Shiro doesn’t even listen to Allura or Coran’s response, if there is any, before he turns tail and practically flees.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s a while before Matt finds Shiro. At first, they’d all wanted to give him the space he obviously needed. Then, well, it turns out that Shiro is still amazing at disappearing when he wants to. Even on a planet he’s never been to that, by all accounts, Matt should know better than him.

Which is really just typical Shiro. Matt shakes his head and stares up to where Shiro is perched high on a rock partway up the mountain and looking out over the horizon.

It’s an ingenious hiding place, what with the way the mountain curves around, almost folding over on itself to make a crescent shape. The entrance to where Shiro now sits is hidden mostly by equipment and large rocks. It’s basically obscured from view unless Matt stands at the right angle. It was a stroke of crazy luck that Matt even found him.

Then again, crazy luck sort of defines both his and Shiro’s lives. Unfortunately, it’s not always good luck, and when it’s bad, it’s really bad.

Anyway. For now, Matt just needs to find a way to get up to Shiro’s perch. He huffs mostly in false annoyance. Shiro without a doubt knows that Matt is there, and he hopes Shiro’s at least amused by his _incredibly graceful_ climb.

It’s not that Matt is out of shape or emaciated—maybe a bit underfed, definitely a little pinched looking—but it’s more that Shiro’s insane gymnastic-style climbing abilities have obviously improved since their Garrison days. So Matt might be struggling.

He’s huffing as he drags himself over a ledge and prepares to tackle to the last one when a hand appears in front of his face. Matt startles, and then grins. No matter how much time has passed, some things about Shiro will never change.

And isn’t that a relief?

Matt reaches up and grabs the proffered hand, setting his foot into the first foothold he sees to aid his assent. The arm he’s grabbed clicks and whirs when Shiro starts to pull, and Matt slips, nearly yanking Shiro down off the mountain. Katie obviously left some important details out of her brief retelling. He hopes Shiro doesn’t register the cause of his surprise, because that likely isn’t going to help the coming conversation.

Matt clambers over the lip of the cliff without another incident, breathing heavily as Shiro retreats back towards the wall. Matt dusts off his hands, wiping them on the prison garb that he really needs to get rid of.

“You know,” he starts casually, inspecting the scrapes on his palms, “I’m pretty sure my dad was going to tell you to call him by his first name, except you looked like your head was going to explode.”

He watches Shiro carefully and sees him flinch at the last comment, but Shiro doesn’t say anything yet. He just stares down at his hands and something etched into the dirt at his feet.

Curious, Matt moves closer, hoping it will maybe give him a starting point. This is uncharted territory for them, and while Matt could argue that this would be their specialty, no one could really call their last “uncharted territory” mission a smashing success.

That’s a bad road to go down, so Matt refocuses on the writing. He can’t see much of it, just some numbers, maybe an equation, but it’s enough to guess what Shiro’s been up to. Not that Matt had had much doubt.

“Three years,” Shiro says in a quiet voice. He sounds fragile, like all that’s holding him together is will power and if Matt hits the right pressure point, he’ll shatter. That’s probably not too far off the mark, actually, and Matt hopes he’s up to the challenge.

He’s terrified of hurting his best friend, but it’s pretty much unavoidable at this point.

Shiro still hasn’t looked at him. Well, that’s fine. Matt deliberately shuffles through the math and plops himself down at Shiro’s side. He spreads his legs out in front of him and deliberately fidgets, rebelling against a year a being forced to be silent and small.

Shiro had been with them for three.

It’s an old hurt for Matt, a long ago realization, but Shiro seems to have honestly had no idea how long he’d been with the Galra. Katie had mentioned amnesia. Maybe that’s a place to start.

“I actually did think you had died for me. For a little while, anyway,” he says. Shiro jerks, head snapping up to gape at Matt with clear pain on his face. Matt winces. Ok, he probably could have phrased that better. To cover it up, he punches Shiro on the arm, hopefully interrupting the guilt spiral.

“Stop it, Shiro. I’m not done, and I’m not guilt-tripping you.” Shiro rubs his arm and frowns, but he doesn’t look away, so that counts as a win. “ _As I was saying_ ,” he continues, eyes narrowed in distrust that Shiro will listen instead of drowning in misplaced blame.

“We’d hear news from the main fleet. Or guards would come back from a vacation. The reports were always delayed—honestly, I don’t know how the Galra are pulling off this whole wide-reaching empire thing with all the different time—“ a small cough cuts Matt off, and he freezes in the middle of a wide gesture. Whoops. He went slightly off track, there. But some of the tension has leaked out of Shiro’s shoulders and there’s a tiny up-quirk to his lips. Matt grins. “Sorry. Anyway, we gave up on figuring that out, after a while.”

Shiro actually snorts at that, which is fair. Holts aren’t great at giving up. See: Katie cross-dressing as a boy—something that causes a physical pain in Matt’s chest when he thinks about what a sacrifice that is for her, he really needs to hug her again later. But fair or not, it can’t be allowed to stand, so Matt digs his elbow into Shiro’s side. He also decides to ignore (for now) the brief flare of tension that rippled through Shiro at the unexpected contact.

Matt needs to remember to telegraph his moves more. It’s not like Shiro’s the first arena fighter he’s encountered in the aftermath. It’s just so easy to fall into their old rhythm.

“Shut up,” he says, “I’m talking serious things. Obviously, we wanted to escape, so we eavesdropped as much as possible. Some of these aliens have _really_ good hearing. And we heard about the new Champion almost as soon as I got here. We thought it was that monster that I was supposed to fight.”

Matt’s eyes go out of focus, lost in that memory. Injured, scared, but at least not alone, Dad had put his arm around Matt’s shoulders and together they had mourned the loss of their space family.

Then, over the next few days, they’re heard more. Matt lets out a watery laugh, remembering.

“Do you know how funny it is to hear you called a runt?” Matt laughs again. He can’t find the words to voice the utter, bone-deep _relief_ he’d felt when he realized they couldn’t possibly be talking about Myzax. “Apparently, you’re tiny.”

Matt runs his gaze over Shiro’s form. Even with armor on, it’s clear he’s much bigger than when they flew together. Not that he’d been exactly small then, but not like this. Side effect of years of gladiator fights.

Which reminds him.

“I _may_ have rooted against you for a few days and, uh, said some things before we realized it was you. Sorry about that.”

Shiro cracks a smile at that. “I think I can forgive you.” The smile dims. “Matt—“

“Shiro,” Matt interrupts, smile fixed on his face but a clear warning in his tone, “if you are about to apologize for saving my life, I will tell your fanclub back there stories from the Garrison. Ones even Keith doesn’t know.”

Shiro presses his lips together, wisely keeping silent, but his brows don’t unfurrow and Matt knows this is a conversation they’ll have to revisit. Matt’s going to need to start making a list. One at a time, though.

Now that Matt is thinking about it, if Shiro is uncomfortable with what he did for Matt, he’ll probably appreciate forewarning.

“I should let you know, some of the prisoners that you fought are here. Katie told us you sometimes have flashbacks.” Shiro makes a noise of distress that he clearly didn’t mean to let escape and pink creeps up to the tips of his ears. Matt frowns. It’s nothing to be ashamed about, but he isn’t surprised. This is Shiro. “They’ll probably want to thank you.”

His tone is nonchalant, but he watches for Shiro’s reaction like a hawk. It doesn’t require such close monitoring. Shiro snaps his head towards him, dark eyes wide, and Matt winces. That had to have hurt his neck.

“What?” Shiro chokes out. Matt’s heart pangs at the disbelief etched into every inch of Shiro’s face.

“They thought they were going to die fighting in that arena. Shiro, everyone who fought you that’s here talks about you like you’re a hero.” Matt and his dad had felt so proud every time a new prisoner showed up with a new story of Shiro and how he’d saved them.

“But I hurt them,” Shiro insists, “Crippled some. They’ll never be the same. Matt, I’m a monster.” It’s like Shiro thinks he’s no better than the Galra. The present tense doesn’t escape his notice, either, and Matt blinks hard against the sudden burning in his eyes. Has Shiro talked to _anyone_ about this?

Probably not. Self-sacrificing noble idiot. Well, screw that.

“We were prisoners of the Galra. Tortured for information or forced to fight in an arena, or _both,_ ” he adds, pointedly, “None of us are ever going to be the same again.” He says it bluntly, honestly, but hopefully not unkindly, “They— _we_ —are alive. That’s more than we thought we’d get. And here you are again, helping to free us. If I wasn’t concerned you would actually die of embarrassment right now, I’d be thanking you.” And he will, later. Dad, too. Probably profusely.

Shiro’s mouth is working but nothing comes out. Eventually, he sets his jaw and looks away from Matt. As rare as it is for Shiro to have no words, Matt knows that doesn’t mean he won. No one who didn’t know him as well as Matt does realized how quietly but insanely competitive Shiro is. Want something done with a stupid, stubborn commitment? Make it a challenge. Shiro will never give up.

That’s fine. Matt’s stubborn, too. And he’s not going to let his best friend suffer or think the worst of himself. Shiro is one of the best people Matt knows, and he deserves to believe that.

Matt will bludgeon it into his head, if need be.

That’s another long-term project, though. For now, he knows Shiro and filling in what he knows about Shiro’s story that Shiro doesn’t is something that will ultimately help his friend. He hopes.

“Anyway,” Matt says, continuing his recounting from where he left off, because sidetracking and finding his way back is another thing he’s mastered. “We stopped hearing about you about four months in. Took longer than a few days for news of Champion to start again, this time.” Twenty. It took twenty days. It was another half a month of thinking that Shiro had lost. That he was dead. Three weeks of mourning together when they weren’t being worked to death. A little guilty relief that maybe Shiro was finally at peace. Matt remembers the arena planet; escape hadn’t even been a possibility they’d ever entertained. “Then you were just suddenly back, and they were talking about your new…weapon.”

Shiro’s hand twitches and Matt studies it. It’s not exactly what he’d expected given how the Galra talked about it. They hadn’t said what it looked like, but they had described in detail what it can do. Matt tears his eyes away from it, feeling a little sick at what he remembers them describing.

At what Shiro did and might remember. Shit. He flicks his gaze instead up to Shiro’s face where he finally notices that Shiro’s breathing too quickly. Even as he watches, Shiro’s breath goes ragged and his eyes lose their focus.

“Shit shit shit,” Matt mutters. He should have known the arm was a sensitive subject. One day, Shiro had been fighting for his life in an arena, sparing others’ lives when he could, and then he’d been gone for weeks before returning with a new limb. No, fuck, Matt corrects, it was months for Shiro. Three months of…something. Matt doesn’t know what, exactly, but he does remember their interrogation. He knows that there had been no rumor of injury before Shiro disappeared.

He knows that after the arm, new, more gleeful reports of the Champion started coming in, but no new prisoners joined them.

Matt still feels hot shame curl in his gut when he remembers the doubts he’d had, the belief that they had lost Shiro after all when faced with the excited stories of the violent, unmerciful slaughter the newly reappeared Champion was meting out.

Months of doubt and fear and sometimes even wishing Shiro had died, and then a new prisoner had appeared and Matt had learned a new sort of anguish for his friend.

None of that tells Matt what he just triggered in Shiro, which means none of that is important right now. What is important is the way Shiro’s chest is hitching in shallow, unproductive breaths and his eyes are staring at nothing Matt can see. Matt’s hands flutter, wanting to touch but unsure if that would make it worse.

“Breathe, Shiro,” he says, voice calm and soothing in a way he’s perfected over his imprisonment. Sharp tones and orders just make people flinch. The Galra are never soft, so the stark difference to whatever memory they’re trapped in sometimes helps his words to catch hold. “Slow down and breathe, Shiro. In. Come on, Shirogane, we know what you can do. Out.” Shiro’s breath stutters and halts, then hisses out again, which isn’t perfect but is a response. Matt’ll take it. “Keep it up. Focus on my voice. I’ve got you. In again. Try to hold it. Out. You’re doing great.”

Slowly, Shiro’s breathing steadies and he calms by degrees, red rising to color his cheeks and replace the pallor of before. He opens his mouth to say something and Matt cheerfully cuts him off, “Remember what I said about apologies.”

Shiro’s mouth snaps closed, and then he lets out a chuckle. Or, Matt thinks it is supposed to be a chuckle. It sounds more like a laugh that got dragged repeatedly across gravel until it escaped.

Matt decides not to go into the details he knows of the rest of Shiro’s captivity. He doesn’t need to know that part. Not right now.

“Now, shush. I’m almost done.” He tries for a joking tone, but he’s pretty sure he misses the mark. “Four months ago, everything stopped. News, rumors, new prisoners, all of it. We kept waiting for you to come back, because no one said you’d lost, so maybe it was like before.” It had been a horrifying thought. It only took 3 months to replace a limb and force Shiro to kill. What could they do to a person in a year and a half? “From what we knew and heard, and then Zarkon…well, we thought—“ hoped, almost, “we thought maybe they’d killed you for defiance.”

Matt knows his voice has gone quiet and pained, but as the months had gone on, they’d wished more and more that Shiro was dead and not anywhere else in Galran hands. Shiro doesn’t say anything, just shifts closer and slings an arm around Matt’s shoulders. Matt feels himself unraveling as tears fill his eyes, but he blinks them back and smiles crookedly up at Shiro. His lips feel like they get stuck somewhere just before midway.

“We’d heard whispers of Voltron, more after that, but I never expected it to be 5 lions. Or that you and Katie would be involved. And that’s where we are now.” It’s a rather anticlimactic end to the tale, but Matt knows nothing is really over now (only his imprisonment. Only), and they could do with some anticlimax. It’s sort of fitting, too, because honestly, the way the Galra had whispered about it, Matt had imaged Voltron as some sort of giant, powerful Galran boogeyman.

His sister is part of the Galran Boogeyman. Now there’s a weird thought. Matt is absurdly proud. It feels very out of place.

Shiro doesn’t say anything. His arm rests on Matt’s shoulders, but Matt doubts he’s even registering it—his face is blank, and Matt knows if he realized that Matt could feel the tension thrumming through him, he would’ve moved further away. And Matt…well, he’s not quite sure where to go from here. Shiro knows everything now—almost everything, the broad strokes of everything—that Matt does about the three years he hadn’t even known he’d lost.

If it were someone else, Matt might give them time to process on their own. Just leave them silently sitting with an offer to talk later. He can’t do that with Shiro. Shiro broods. He’ll smile to your face, and then tear himself apart as soon as you turn away.

No way is Matt going to leave him alone with three years of imagined failures. That’s why Matt had told him anything in the first place, but broad strokes leave a lot of holes to fill in.

Shiro really needs to talk to the prisoners he save. He’ll hate it, and he’ll be uncomfortable because Shiro’s never known what to do with gratitude for what he views as simply doing what he should, but it’ll challenge anything he tries to make up about his time as Champion. For the most part.

So Matt sits next to Shiro until the heavy weight of Shiro’s arm is removed from his shoulders and Shiro starts to lose his rigid posture, his posture beginning to hunch. Then Matt makes his move.

He nudges Shiro with sharp elbows, eliciting a jerk and a wide eyed stare. He summons up the brightest grin he can and distracts.

“I’m glad you came for us.” Shiro blinks once, twice, and recognition sparks in his eyes. A small smile softens his face, but it makes him look _older_.

And he is, Matt realizes. Shiro is actually years older than him now. His heart clenches, but he freezes the smile on his face. Shiro _cannot_ know how much he hurts for him.

“Of course I did,” he says, like it’s obvious. Guilt laces his tone and the smile slips, “I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked about how you guys are, or what you went through.” That. That is why Shiro can’t know.

Matt’s sure it’s an honest question, too, and Shiro really does care to listen, but he has also known Shiro for forever. He eyes the other man’s strained expression knowingly.

“I’ll tell you about it, but I know what you’re doing.” He leans back and stares up at purple clouds. “Dad and I, we’ve had each other. We made sure to stay together, and we talked. We had someone who understood. Have you talked to anybody since you escaped? Since I left you?” Matt shakes his head and looks to Shiro, who’s steadily avoiding his gaze. “You were with them for three _years_ , Shiro. No one expects you to be completely okay.”

Except, probably, you, he doesn’t add.

Shiro shifts uncomfortably, but at least he’s not denying it. Matt huffs and lets Shiro fidget. Or rather, he expects Shiro to fidget. When Shiro remains still after that first sign of his discomfort, Matt frowns again.

Yet another change the Galra have wrought on his friend.

“If you want to talk to us, you can. I know Dad would absolutely encourage it. Whatever you need, Shiro.”

Shiro nods absentmindedly. Matt lets it go for now, but this isn’t over. Shiro’s a fool if he’s forgotten what Matt and Samuel Holt are like. Not all Holts refuse to talk about their feelings like Katie.

They sit quietly together for a few minutes, and then Shiro gives himself a little shake, look around and maybe taking in their surroundings fully for the first time.

“We should definitely talk,” he says decisively. It’s obviously not something Shiro is excited about, and he said it just to be able to be held accountable for it, but Matt is heartened to hear some of his old surety back in his voice. Matt’s never known Shiro to give up, and he’s relieved to see that hasn’t changed.

Not that he’d really expected otherwise, what with an escape and waging war against a galactic empire by leading a team of heroes piloting robotic lions. But it’s still nice to actually see.

“Just…maybe later,” Shiro continues, sheepishness creeping into his tone. He levels an embarrassed smile at Matt, and warmth erupts in his chest. The goofy, kind-hearted dork is still there, too. “I usually help Allura and Coran with the first meetings. They’ll be wondering why I abandoned them.”

Matt shakes his head fondly. Like they’re not going to understand. He punches Shiro in the arm instead of saying anything—it’s like hitting a _wall_ —and lurches to his feet.

Hands on his hips, he stares expectantly at Shiro. “You have to show me your lion. I have never seen tech like that.”

Shiro grins and pushes himself up. He crosses his arm and the grin turns sly as he glances at Matt out of the corner of his eye, “I think she’s going to like you.”

Matt blinks. “She” makes sense. The rest of that sentence, not as much. “What? She’s going to like me?”

Shiro’s grin just widens in response. He walks to the edge of the ledge.

“No, Shiro, wait. Seriously, what?” Matt darts forward. “Can the lions _think?_ Do they have AI? How do you know what they’re thinking? How do they have emotions?”

Shiro laughs and _steps off the cliff._ Matt leaps forward to see a flash of blue light as Shiro’s jetpack goes off in bursts to help him bound down to the ground and _abandon Matt like an asshole_.

“Shiro!” Matt stares down after him as he grows smaller with the distance. Forget talking later, Matt is going to have to climb back down this mountain and _murder_ Shiro.

Vague annoyance and amusement war inside of him as he surveys the mountainside he now has to tackle. Nearly a year on this planet and Matt’s managed to never end up in the mountain sector, having to clamber around on rocks and possibly fall to his death.

The things he does for Shiro.

Shaking his head, he steps forward to grudgingly begin the descent when a light purple platform flickers into existence at his feet. He steps back, startled, and looks down towards the equipment at the base. One is humming with life, and Shiro gives a wave from the control panel. That bastard.

Matt growls fondly and steps onto the disk, which slowly begins to lower him to the ground.

Only Shiro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this went from a small ramble about relativity to a three chapter >20k fic, partly because I'm me and partly because my friend couldn't choose between two titles I sent her and then it sounded like a series. Season 2 debunked pretty much all of it, as I expected it would. It's not really my headcanon for a lot of things, although my personal headcanons are sprinkled throughout. It was fun to mix and match.
> 
> This should be updated weekly (it's mostly done, but for editing on the second chapter and finishing the third).
> 
> Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, lecture me about physics (no, seriously, that's welcome. I lost my Theory of Relativity book and haven't had physics class in years. I sort of miss it), whatever!
> 
> I can also be found at thehouseofthebrave on tumblr. My ask is open.


	2. On the Weight of a Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro deals with the aftermath of learning about his lost time, a surprise attack derails a meeting, and Sam steps in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the effects of gravity become more metaphorical than literal, because we ventured into the chapters that were never going to exist. 
> 
> I realized I may have been a little confusing last chapter, I figured I'd clarify: in terms of how fast the time goes for each person, Shiro's>Earth's>the Holt's.

Shiro is exhausted.

He’s been pushing himself to remember his lost time even harder than before, now that he’s aware of _how much_ he’s lost. He knows Matt left things out—some of the prisoners did talk to him. Shiro knows there was nearly a year where no prisoner faced him and still made it to Matt and Commander Holt’s prison world.

It was ten months. Ten months where nothing good could have happened. That’s not how the Galra work. That’s not how his life works.

And so he’s been trying to force himself to remember. He knows it doesn’t work like that, but he also can’t keep wondering. He has to _know_ what he did, what he’s capable of. He’s not stupid. _Something_ bad happened in that time, something to do with his arm, with Haggar.

So far, all Shiro has to show for his pushing is an increase in the number of nightmares he has, and a subsequent decrease in the amount of sleep. No memories.

At least, none that he can be sure are memories and aren’t just the worst of his imagination taunting him.

In the end, he’s being selfish. It’s for his own sake, his own need to know, that he’s really doing this. He’s been lying to himself that it’s to help the team, to protect them, but it’s not. It’s entirely selfish, and now he’s berating himself as he struggles to focus in this meeting. He’s definitely not making the best impression as leader of the Paladins and head of Voltron, and he fully expects Allura to chew him out for it later.

Maybe Coran, too. He’s never let Shiro get away with failing in his duties.

Shiro gives himself a mental slap and a small shake. Just because he’s tired is no reason to be petty or bitter. Especially over reprimands that he rightfully deserved.

He drags his focus back to the discussion.

He’s sitting at Allura’s right side while Coran sits to her left, across a small table from the leaders of a pocket resistance they’d discovered. They’d found a few resistances to the Galra Empire in their travels, but those were mostly small and planet-bound, lacking any sort of intergalactic travel. This group is different, though, capable of jumping systems in nearly no time at all.

That’s why it’s important to establish contact and try to convince them to work with the other uprisings team Voltron had found. An empire with the breadth of the Galra needs to be opposed by more than a group of five humans and two Alteans, Voltron or not. They need an alliance among the resistance.

Which means that Shiro should really be paying attention to this discussion.

Shiro tunes back in as Allura outlines what she hopes the Raxicalli will be able to contribute to an alliance, and how they will benefit in turn. It’s tough to say how well the proposal is going over with their counterparts, since Shiro hasn’t quite yet figured out if they have a face, or how they see, or where the sounds they make for speech even come from, but they’ve turned a pleasant shade of aquamarine. He takes that as a good sign.

The Raxicalli leader, Trrrlyck, makes the rumbling noise that has preceded all of their comments when the door bursts open and interrupts the meeting. Shiro and Allura leap to their feet, Shiro’s arm lighting up, as Coran reaches for his blaster and the four Raxicalli turn a pale mauve.

There’s a beat—and it’s a beat too long, he chastises himself—before Shiro realizes that the figure who stumbled through the door is—

“Keith?” Coran says, standing slowly, hand still on his blaster.

Keith is breathing hard and his bayard is out and activated, eyes wild. Shiro moves towards him, and Keith’s gaze swings to land firmly on him.

“Keith, what?” Shiro asks, reaching out.

“The shield is down!” he exclaims, stirring up a flurry of motion as everyone around the table moves to get clear, “Galra soldiers found the base, and they’re already inside.”

Keith whirls, report delivered, and brings his sword to bear as the rest of them jump into action. The Raxicalli mutter something that the translators don’t interpret and that makes Coran’s face twitch.

“They’ve jammed the radio,” one of them spits—Shiro can’t tell them apart now that they’ve all moved—before bounding on four of their legs into the hall.

The sound of a distant firefight reaches them now, and they ready themselves as a howl erupts in the hallway. The sound sends a chill up Shiro’s spine and he shivers, stepping further away from his chair. He briefly considers moving in front of Allura before deciding she’d break both of his legs if he tried.

They all tense into fighting stances as three Galra spill into the room, but it’s the fourth figure that causes Shiro to freeze. The alien is bipedal and ethereal, its hair long and flowing with large white wings flaring magnificently from its back. Shiro’s not particularly religious, but he knows what an avenging angel looks like and it’s currently bearing down on them with a glowing orange sword held aloft like divine justice.

 _Those wings are capable of flight_ , Shiro’s brain provides, _even when half the size and on a much younger being_.

And then Shiro’s not quite there.

The lights flicker between the bright white of the Raxicalli base and the grey-purple of the arena. He stumbles back as the rage on the approaching face flashes to smaller, rounder, frightened. Shiro can’t bring himself to move, trapped between past and present. His breath catches and his muscles lock up.

There’s a cry, and Shiro can’t tell if it’s from now or then. The world is passing in skips and stutters, and between one minute and the next, Keith is barreling into the angel coming to pass judgment.

He barely knocks it off course.

Shiro manages to lift his arm, and then the angel is above him, gliding down with wide eyes and shaking hands wrapped around Galran steel. His arm rips through its chest, and he twists his entire torso, slamming it to the ground, arm still buried in its ribcage.

The angel chokes and coughs blood. Shiro feels flecks patter his face. Its eyes remain wide, its hands are wrapped motionless around his prosthetic, and its mouth is open in a soundless cry. Shiro doesn’t move, breathing raggedly, and he sees the broken wings beneath the angel, splayed out like a symbol of Shiro himself.

A shout of pain echoes in Shiro’s ear, jarring to his memory. It’s enough to startle him back to the here and now, and here and now Keith is standing in front of him, clutching his side. The Galran fighter is a ways away, wary look on its face. It’s not wounded as far as Shiro can tell, but he’s also not entirely willing to trust his perceptions right now.

“Keith?” he murmurs, tentatively.

Keith doesn’t look back at him, but relief is clear in his voice as he pants out, “Shiro? You okay?”

Guilt floods what minute amount of Shiro’s system is currently capable of emotion. There’s no blame in his tone, but Keith was injured covering for his weakness.

“I’m alright,” he manages, to which Keith responds with a perfunctory nod, never taking his eyes off the winged alien. Shiro glances around the room and takes in the shape of the battle. The three Raxicalli, Allura, and Coran are fighting the remaining Galra. They seem to be handling it well, and no one is likely to attack him or Keith at the moment, so Shiro devotes his full attention back to their opponent.

He won’t let Keith get any more injured on his watch.

The alien launches itself into the air, wings spread wide, and Keith tenses, bring both hands to his bayard while Shiro’s vision flickers again. It’s only a brief second this time, and he’s able to see when its talons light up similarly to his arm. Shiro brings his right arm up to a defensive pose and studies the talons a little more closely. It’s only the tips where the claws would be that glow Galra purple, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous.

The alien gives a powerful flap of its wings before tucking them in close and going into a dive, talons extended like a hawk sighting its prey. The two Paladins dive out of the way. Shiro goes into a controlled roll, coming up on one knee ready to lunge.

Keith is less lucky. He successfully avoids getting mauled by the talons but is clipped when the wings flare out to prevent the alien from slamming into the ground. The move produces a strong blast of wind that buffets Shiro’s face and makes his eyes burn, but he’s already up and darting forward to try to cover for Keith’s stumble as the younger fighter tries to regain his balance.

Keith turns as he falls, raising his bayard to provide a desperate cover for his open side, but the glowing sword swipes away his defense with ease. It also knocks whatever equilibrium Keith had managed to recover off track. Shiro can see the shock on his face as he falls backwards, wide open to any attack. There’s no slow motion, just fast-paced horror when the alien raises its sword to aim for Keith’s already injured abdomen. There’s a heartbeat of pure fear before Shiro makes contact, tackling Keith out of the way.

The heat of the blade grazes Shiro’s back, but he’s able to control their landing enough that he doesn’t crush the other man. Almost as soon as they hit the ground, Shiro springs back up into a crouch, guarding the downed Paladin until he can recover.

They don’t get much time before the alien is back, and Shiro blocks out everything else as he rises up to meet the blade with his glowing Galra arm. His back burns with the stretch, suggesting the wound might be deeper than he’d thought, but it’s not impeding his movement so Shiro will worry about it later.

He shoves the alien, forcing it away from Keith, and chases after it to harry it into retreating more. He gains a few extra feet that way before the sword hammers down again. Shiro deflects the strike to the side and then slips in close as the momentum throws the alien off balance. The wings flare up again, helping to right it more quickly than Shiro had anticipated, and he’s just barely able to twist to the side to avoid being gored by a talon as the alien moves fluidly into a kick.

Then the sword is there, coming down in a chopping sweep at Shiro’s shoulder. He throws his arm up, catching the swing but ever wary for talons aimed at his unprotected midsection. Instead, the wings give a strong beat, catching him by surprise and sending him tumbling backwards into a graceless somersault with a fierce gust of wind.

“Shiro!” Keith calls out, already moving in to cover Shiro’s recovery. He ducks around the wings, blocks the sword, and is struck soundly by the claws just as his bayard makes contact to its flank in a vicious strike. The alien shrieks in agony and fury and seems to grow in size as it turns to Keith, who has stumbled back, gripping his stomach and gasping for air.

The Red Paladin tries to lift his bayard to defend himself but lacks the strength and breath to get it up. Ice freezes Shiro’s heart before determination sets fire to his veins.

Keith is not getting hurt again. Not while Shiro is conscious.

He lunges forward, fueled by his absolute need to _protect_ , and burns a line down the fleshy portion of the left wing. The right immediately flares in retaliation, but Shiro has spun around to attack from the front and it misses him entirely. Finally remembering his shield, he calls it into existence to land a blow to the creature’s face and send it whirling. It strikes out with a talon, turning the twisting fall into a kick, but Shiro catches its leg and _yanks_ , sending it toppling.

The alien hits the ground and yowls in pain from where it’s landed on its injured wing. Shiro closes in to finish the fight, dancing around the talon that lashes out to stop him. He notes the sword feet away out of reach to the left and raises his shield for another blow, aiming for its head and hoping to knock it out if he can. Just before he makes contact, there’s a flicker of movement to his right and suddenly a knife is embedded to the hilt in his side. He jolts slightly, but it’s not enough to stop his drive and his shield impacts heavily with the alien’s temple.

It goes limp, and its loosening grip on the knife tears it down Shiro’s side as its arm falls away.

Shiro cries out in pain and stumbles sideways, tripping over the alien’s body. Keith is there to catch him, and slowly the two sink to the ground. He looks up into Keith’s pale face and wide eyes and marvels at how the edges of Keith’s features have gone bright. His hand drifts down to where the knife is still stuck in his side and presses down.

It’s important that he keeps pressure on it. Right?

There’s a distant sound of ringing, and Shiro wonders if they’ve finally sounded an alarm that they’re under attack. It’s a bit of a delayed system. They should work on that.

“Shiro!” Keith calls, patting his face, and Shiro drags his attention back to the Red Paladin. It’s harder than it should be. Shiro frowns and his brows furrow, but gradually the tacky feeling coating his fingers, the ringing that’s just in his ears and not the whole base, and the struggle to think through molasses start to add up to a coherent picture.

“Oh,” he says, only slightly surprised and a full measure guilty. He’s not going to be able to finish the meeting. “I’m going to pass out.”

His Paladins are going to be so worried. Keith. Keith is already here. Shiro tries to focus again on the younger boy, but it’s like he’s in a tunnel now. Something is roaring, but it’s in the back of his head and not his ears. It sounds like caring.

It’s comforting.

“Keith,” he remembers after too long. This feels like it’s important. “Find the others. Make sure they’re okay. I should…” His tongue is heavy. It’s hard to move it. “Mmmm, I should…’m sorry.”

His head lolls to the side, neck unable to support it anymore. He thinks he hears Keith calling his name, and he tries so hard to respond. It’s just, he’s just…Shiro is exhausted.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Prepare two pods for immediate use,” sounds Coran’s clipped voice over the Castle’s communications, the abrupt instructions echoing around the mostly empty room before cutting out without any other greeting or reassurance.

Whatever happened, Sam knows, was very bad. His heart pangs in concern for Katie and her friends. For Takashi. He and Matt share a worried look, but the two of them don’t hesitate, up and moving to ready the pods.

Despite their near miraculous capabilities, the pods themselves are relatively simple to operate, and the pair of Holts has them prepped in minutes. From there, they split, gathering bandages, fluids, antiseptics, and any other medical supply that may be needed. Two of them require the pods but that doesn’t mean the others escaped harm.

Worry tightens a vice around Sam’s chest yet again.

“What the hell happened?” Matt asks, shattering the tense silence as they survey the Medical Bay. Sam nods to himself, satisfied that there is nothing else to find, and moves towards the hover stretchers stowed along the wall. He waves for Matt to grab a second one and heads out of the room at a quick clip, his destination the main hanger.

“Any number of things, son,” Sam says in a delayed response to Matt’s likely rhetorical question. “We have to be ready for them all.” He knows as he says it, though, that there are some things one simply cannot prepare for. He hopes that this time does not turn out to be one of them.

Matt’s mouth presses into a thin line, face grim but focused, and he picks up the pace to the hanger. They arrive at a near run and now must wait. Despite the similarities to a portion of their year in captivity—waiting for any news of whether Takashi lived or died—practice does not improve the situation. Nor Matt’s patience for it.

 His son paces like a caged tiger, gesturing expansively as he fills the empty hanger with words.

Sam is sure at least a part of his exaggerated gesticulations are an attempt to reclaim his old exuberant habits, and another part are a rather large statement against their captors, who had tried to beat and frighten Matt into a more docile existence. Sam absolutely supports this mindset, often even encourages it, but that doesn’t mean he is currently listening to every theory Matt is suggesting.

Instead, Sam stands and breathes and keeps his eyes on the now open hanger doors, vigilant for any sight of the returning Team Voltron. Patience yields focus, and Sam must ready himself to focus on whatever flies through those doors, no matter what it is.

No matter whom it is.

A quickly moving speck appears beyond the Castle’s shield and, within a matter of seconds, it passes through the shield to land in the hanger. Alerted originally by Sam’s tense shifting at the first sight of the shuttle, Matt watches it land with a sharp, studying eye.

Although there’s nothing wrong with the approach of the shuttle, there is an extra bump to the landing and a small dip of one wing that causes Sam’s heart to pick up speed.

“That’s not Shiro,” Matt observes in a low tone. “Or Keith,” he adds on, almost as an afterthought.

“No, it’s not,” Sam agrees. Even when hurried or stressed, Takashi doesn’t allow his flying to be anything less than perfect. What neither of them is willing to say is that one of the pods is for Takashi. It’s likely the other is for Keith, although Sam doesn’t know the boy well enough to say whether he would be one to forgo piloting the shuttle in order to stay at Takashi’s side.

Based on what he _does_ know of the brash young man—from Takashi, Matt, and his Garrison instructors, as well as from Katie’s stories of Voltron and his own observations—Sam thinks that unlikely. However, he has been surprised before, and he’s seen how close the bond between Keith and Takashi is.

The mystery, thankfully, doesn’t last long, for the shuttle has barely touched down before its doors are opening to a chaos of movement. Allura rushes down the ramp with a pale, unconscious Takashi cradled in her arms. She hurriedly places him on Matt’s stretcher and Sam swallows hard to see a blade sticking out of his side surrounded by bloodied bandages. Allura takes off at a run and, after a frantic glance that notes Katie and stops, Matt sprints after her.

Sam’s heart is in his throat, but there is a trickle of cool relief at the sight of his unharmed daughter. Lance and Hunk are also on their feet, dirty and scratched, but in no clear danger at present, so Sam turns his attention to the struggling form of Keith. The young Paladin is pale as well and carried similarly to Takashi in Coran’s arms.

The difference is that Keith is awake and vocally unhappy about it. Sam can see the telltale twitch of Coran’s ear that indicates he is extremely annoyed, likely augmented by the worry over whatever went wrong.

“Coran, I can walk. Put me down!” Keith pants, clearly agitated and also clearly overestimating his current state of health. Sam can’t see where the boy was wounded, but his pallor suggests there has been some significant amount of blood lost. Still, he fights to get out of Coran’s hold, desperately shooting looks to where Allura and Matt have disappeared with Takashi.

Coran places him gently on the stretcher, holding him easily with what looks like a casual hand but is likely more force than any of them are singularly capable of.

Altean abilities are truly amazing. But humans have some strengths as well.

Sam places a hand on Keith’s other shoulder, getting a wild-eyed gaze in response. He squeezes the shulder in his grasp, imparting whatever comfort he can through his touch. Keith’s eyebrows pull together, eyes desperate and pleading.

“I have to see if Shiro’s alright, Commander Holt.” His voice is quiet, lost, and Sam’s heart goes out to the poor boy. But he also knows Keith needs medical attention. Neglecting himself will benefit no one. That is one trait he dearly hopes the Paladins do not pick up from Takashi, although Keith’s current actions don’t offer much hope of that.

“Takashi would not want you ignoring your own needs on his behalf, Keith,” Sam reminds him as gently as he can. Keith’s face crumples before going stoic as he nods and settles. Sam meets Coran’s eyes and together they push Keith’s stretcher up to the Med Bay. The other three trail behind them, unnaturally quiet. Sam will do his best to talk to them once this is handled, but he also fears it will be a fruitless endeavor until Takashi is out of the pod to reassure them himself.

It’s almost no time at all before they’re in the Medical Bay, peeling Keith’s armor off so that they can examine his wound. The Paladin armor appears to have done a fairly decent job of protecting his midsection, but whatever blade he was struck with gouged four deep scratches across the length of his abdomen. The edges of his suit appear burned and some level of cauterization has occurred, but the cuts are still oozing blood and there’s a deep bruise blooming on his side that has Sam concerned.

The bruise and the color of Keith’s skin is ultimately what worries both Sam and Coran enough to stick him in the pod for a few hours. Up until this point, Keith has been surprisingly amenable to their exam, his gaze fixed on where Takashi is now peacefully settled in the pod, face slack in false sleep. Once they tell him that he’ll have to abandon his silent observation of his leader and friend, though, Keith’s hackles raise as he prepares to fight.

Hunk and Lance each place a hand on him before he can say anything, and Keith closes his mouth but remains tense, mouth twisted into a scowl and breathing fast. Lance leans down and says something in Keith’s ear, low enough that Sam can’t hear any of it but to which Keith responds with a frown and an unhappy nod. Lance slaps him on the back with a bright smile, causing Keith to grit his teeth against a pained groan and Katie to whack Lance in the stomach.

Sam frowns disapprovingly at his daughter, but she sets her jaw in that stubborn way that means she doesn’t regret it. Usually, that expression has Sam tagging out with his wife to continue the conversation, since Colleen is where both Katie and Matt get it from.

His heartbeat echoes hollowly in his chest at the thought of his wife. Oh, how he misses her. And to think of her all alone, possibly believing everyone in her family dead…it’s a grief almost too heavy to contemplate, and it might be hers to bear. Sam really must figure out the long-range communication to be able to send her a message.

All that is for later, though. For now, Sam assists Keith off of the stretcher and over to the pod beside Takashi’s as Coran chatters away.

“We’ll just pop you in here, Number Four, and you’ll be good as new in two shakes of a Ralnig’s quaftpepper. You’ll be out well before Shiro wakes up, right as rain, so you can all be rested and fed and clean when he gets out.”

Sam recognizes what Coran is trying to do, but he’s not sure how effective it will be. The young Paladins seem reluctant to leave for even a moment, as evidenced by Keith’s unwillingness to get into the pod. Sam is willing to gamble that Lance promised to keep watch over Takashi for him.

It’s a nice sentiment, but Takashi will be no better off for the others simply watching him and not taking care of themselves. In fact, he will likely be a good deal worse knowing the worry and stress he put the others through. If they greet him showered and refreshed, it would be a burden off his overworked mind.

So Sam appreciates that Coran is trying to be subtle and sensitive in his approach, but he feels a more direct route may be necessary.

His thoughts are interrupted when Keith’s knees buckle and he falls, unconscious, into Coran’s arms. Panic flares steady through the room and pandemonium explodes as everyone leaps into some sort of action. Hunk and Lance jump to Coran’s side to help with Keith while Allura, Matt, and Katie aim at a pod, booting up the additional scanners. There a flurry of motion over the next few minutes that ends with Keith set up in the pod beside Takashi and the rest all standing pale and wide-eyed in front of the Red and Black Paladins.

Fear and exhaustion are clear on every face and in the droop of their shoulders, and Sam is relieved when Coran breaks the silence. He claps his hands together and steps forward, gesturing expansively.

“Well now! Keith should be put to rights by the pod—it’ll take no time at all.” He counts on his fingers and announces, “It should be no longer than Lance was in there after the siege on the Castle of Lions!”

That pronouncement sparks a minor uproar, and Sam and Matt exchange a glance. They have no idea what that means.

“That’s even longer than Shiro’s gonna be in there!” Lance exclaims, voice rising above everyone else’s and successfully silencing the room. They all wait for Coran to explain.

He sighs. “He is bleeding internally. We didn’t initially realize it until he collapsed and the pods scanners pinpointed the problem.” He holds both hands out in front of him, placating. “He’ll be just fine, if in a little longer than expected.”

The team lets out a sigh of relief, but they all continue to toss concerned glances between the two pods.

“As I was saying,” Coran starts again, drawing their reluctant attention. “The rest of you should take some time to clean yourselves and refresh. How would you like me to fix you up a healthy Paladin Snack while you bathe?”

The three young defenders all blanch, faces contorting into varying levels of horror. Matt’s eyebrow begins a slow ascent as Lance starts inching backwards, shaking his head. Coran continues on, stroking his mustache and, to all appearances, not noticing their reactions. “I’m sure I can make some of my special recipe. It’s hearty and it should stay fresh for however long our comrades are in their pods!”

Hunk’s expression slips sideways into alarm, and Lance hits his arm repeatedly. “Uh, thanks, Coran, but I was going to bake after my shower, to destress.” Lance doesn’t stop hitting him, so Hunk grabs his hand and starts dragging him to the door. “Lance is going to help—“ Lance yelps a low “what?!” and starts resisting Hunk’s pull, “—thanks anyway!”

Lance keeps up his protests as he’s forced out of the room, “But I promised Keith I’d keep an eye on Shiro!”

There’s legitimate concern in Lance’s eyes as he gently fights against Hunk. Sam steps up next to Coran and smiles benevolently, “Coran and I will monitor them. Any change, and we will immediately alert the rest of you.”

The doubt remains on Lance’s face, and he tosses glances back at Keith and Takashi, but he allows himself to be dragged from the room.

Coran grins and turns to Sam’s children. “Pidge, we have data from the shields around the rebel base. I was hoping you could look into what that device the Galra used to shut it down did. Or perhaps your brother, if you wish to sleep instead,” he adds when Katie hesitates.

At the challenge—which it clearly is, for all Coran’s innocent and unassuming tone—Katie and Matt look at each other, fire in their eyes. Sam predicts a blueprint of the device will be completed by the time Keith heals, with only one minor fire.

Despite their eager competitiveness driving them out of the room, both look to Sam to wait for his nod of understanding, an unspoken promise that he’ll let them know if anything happens, before they race off to the lab.

Together, Sam and Coran turn towards Allura, who raises her hands and eyes them knowingly. “No need to maneuver me, Coran. I shall go refresh myself and then review the recording of our meeting. We will have to plan to continue the discussion as soon as possible.” She, too, pauses on her way out, but she doesn’t look back. “Keep me informed on the status of all the Paladins,” she says, and then she is gone. To Sam’s amazement, even the four mice stop in front of the door and squeak determinedly before following the princess.

As soon as the last tail whips out of sight, Coran’s shoulders slump and Sam’s posture loosens. His eyes fall closed and his lips dip into a frown. Coran pulls a remote scanner for the two pods out of the displays before he sits heavily on the nearby stairs. Sam sits beside him, hand resting on his shoulder in quiet support.

They sit in a comfortable but sober silence before the two sedated Paladins for a while, until Sam can’t stand not knowing anymore and, gaze resting on Takashi’s face, he has to ask, “What happened?”

Coran sighs and begins the tale.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s hours later when they’re all gathered again in front of Takashi’s pod, waiting for the glass to come down. Takashi is stirring slightly, eyelids fluttering as the sedation wears off.

When he’s finally released, he reaches a hand up to his head and stumbles forward out of the pod only to be caught and steadied by Hunk and Lance. Takashi’s eyes fly open and dart around the group, unfocused and unseeing. Aside from the two gently holding him up by the arms, the rest are careful not to crowd him. His eyes settle on Hunk’s face to his right, brows furrowed.

Hunk smiles and slowly the creases in Takashi’s forehead smooth. A small smile makes its way onto his face, and he hoarsely croaks, “Hey, guys.”

Katie doesn’t waste another second before she throws her arms around Takashi’s waist in a tight hug. Lance and Hunk move in simultaneously to turn it into a Paladin group hug. Takashi returns the embrace as best he can while still shaky from his stay in the pod.

Sam blames that disorientation for the extra minute it takes Takashi to count bodies and realize the hug was one short. The furrow makes its way back between his brows.

“Where’s Keith?” he asks, searching for the missing boy. Even from a distance, Sam can see how the others stiffen, which of course causes Takashi to tense. He follows Katie’s gaze over his right shoulder and, while Sam can’t see his face, he hears the rush of air as his former lieutenant sucks in, letting out Keith’s name on the next breath.

Takashi turns back to face them, confused concern painting his features. “What happened?” he rasps, disbelief clear. Coran produces a water pouch instead of answering immediately, offering it to Takashi, who ignores it. Hunk reaches out and takes it instead, holding onto it for him.

“What happened to Keith, Coran,” he repeats. There’s a firmness in his tone that, while respectful, suggests he doesn’t expect to have to ask again. Sam blinks in surprise. He’s never heard Takashi take that tone with Coran or Allura before.

If Coran is surprised, he hides it well, straightening his back and facing Takashi unflinchingly. “He lost consciousness after we returned to the Castle and was discovered to have internal bleeding from what seems to be his liver. He’ll be fully healed by tomorrow.”

Takashi pales, face falling and eyes closing in pain. Keith was hurt protecting him. That’s a failing Takashi will sharpen into a weapon to use against himself. When he reopens his eyes, they practically swim with guilt, and he gazes steadily back at the Red Paladin.

The slump of his shoulders almost audibly radiates “it’s my fault.”

The rest of his team moves in close again, silent but supportive. Hunk presses the water into Takashi’s hand and makes him to take it. He receives a forced smile in return, and Takashi obediently takes a sip.

Katie draws in closer, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his abdomen before she draws back with a look of utter disgust.

“Not to be insensitive, Shiro, but you smell like a thawing dumpster of old gym socks,” she gripes, startling a laugh from the rest of them. Sam chokes, only able to refrain himself from saying anything in reprimand when she shoots him a pointed _look_ as Takashi subtly tries to sniff himself.

“She’s right, my man. You do sort of reek,” Lance agrees. “You should grab a shower, and then eat some of this awesome snack I came up with!” By the time he finishes his sentence, he’s already guiding Takashi around towards the door. Hunk lets out an offended, “hey!” so Lance dutifully nods in his direction, adding, “With Hunk’s help, of course.”

“Of course,” murmurs Takashi, still watching Keith even as the rest of them try to manipulate him out of the Med Bay. Between the three, they keep up an endless stream of chatter, displaying none of the anxiety they were showing before Takashi came out of the pod.

Sam is so incredibly proud of Katie, and he has rarely been prouder than at this moment. Or happier that she has found such good friends. Good people and good for her.

Raucous laughter erupts from behind him out soon after they’re gone, and Sam turns to see his son bent over, clutching his sides.

“Shiro just,” he gasps out between bursts of laughter, “got _so_ mother henned! They’re like his little clones. Ohhhh, he is never going to live this down.”

Sam should probably discourage that so that it keeps happening, but a little teasing is good for Takashi. He needs reminders that he has people not under his command or in command of him. Plus Sam had to deal with both of them on the Kerberos mission, and they deserve some comeuppance for what he went through.

So Sam lets a gleeful Matt go, knowing he will at least be sensitive to the current situation in his heckling. Then he looks around the now empty room and sighs.

Takashi will be back. It’s only a matter of time. Sam slowly exits, planning to check back every so often so he can be there when he does return.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It takes an hour longer than Sam expects before he finds Takashi motionless, arms crossed and standing in front of Keith’s pod. Sam doesn’t make any effort to hide his approach or quiet his steps, which makes it more alarming when Takashi starts as Sam moves to stand beside him.

Sam eyes him in concern, noting the rigid posture and furrowed brows, as well as the dark bags under his eyes that bespeak of more than one night of poor sleep. Weeks, if Coran is to be believed, and Sam has no reason to doubt him.

He only wishes he’d known sooner that something was wrong. He should have known Takashi was more affected than he let on about the time revelation.

“It’s a hard thing,” Coran had said earlier, “to discover that you’ve lost so much more than you had known. Time, life…you wonder what happened? What else don’t I know? What else is gone? What else is changed? What else is a lie? It’s a terrible feeling, a terrible doubt.” His voice had broken then, and Sam hadn’t pushed. Simply produced a handkerchief when the Altean cried and offered his support in the silence.

Sam can’t fathom losing 10,000 years and his entire planet save one, but at least Coran has Allura to share the burden when he needs someone to understand.

And Sam is here now for when he simply needs a friend.

But who, he wonders, has Takashi had? Judging from what he’s heard and seen since his rescue, Sam suspects the answer is no one. That is going to change.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asks, breaking the silence and causing Takashi to start again. The younger man looks over in surprise, and Sam meets his gaze levelly, eyebrows slowly rising in question.

Takashi shrugs, only a little sheepish, “I couldn’t.”

 _Nightmares or concern?_ is Sam’s immediate thought, but there is a whole plethora of things that could be contributing. He’s known Takashi long enough to be aware that if he asks, he’s not going to get a straight answer. Or rather, he’ll get an honest answer that by no means is the full explanation.

Instead, Sam changes the subject.

A small, fond smile creeps its way onto his face, “I remember when you first befriended that young man,” he says, nodding towards Keith. Takashi’s gaze slips back to the pod. “You were both so young.”

And honestly quite adorable. The 18 year old Takashi had taken a 14 year old Keith to the Garrison and proceeded to lead him around like a mother duck. A teasing, affectionate, brotherly mother duck. Keith had looked at him with stars in his eyes.

Not much has changed on that front. Takashi just has more star-struck ducklings.

“They’re still so young,” Takashi murmurs, expression going dark.

Sam sighs and agrees, “You all are. And I hate that this task falls to you, but you’ve all stepped up admirably.”

Takashi huffs, and there is more exhaustion and disbelief than bitterness in the sound, “I don’t feel young.” An undercurrent of pain laces the words, and Sam aches for him. “Plus, I’m not really. I’m apparently 25. 26. I don’t even know how old I am.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, “Talk about a quarter life crisis.”

There’s a darkness in his eyes that suggests there’s more he was going to say after that, but decided to spare Sam.

The ache intensifies, guilt slivering through the sadness.

Pushing away his own feelings, Sam reaches out to grasp Takashi’s shoulder. “You’re still young, my boy. And you didn’t deserve any of this.” Takashi says nothing, face going blank, but he doesn’t shrug off Sam’s hand, which is a positive sign. When he thinks of everything that Takashi has been through, it’s enough to drive anyone to their knees. The fact that he is holding up as well as he is, with all that continues to happen, is nothing short of an amazing display of inner strength.

Yet Sam doubts that _Takashi_ sees it that way. He squeezes his shoulder, drawing the young man’s reluctant attention back and away from Keith, “You know this isn’t your fault.”

The corner of Takashi’s mouth twists, and he closes his eyes, pained. “He was protecting _me_ , Commander Holt. I froze, and Keith got hurt covering for my weaknesses.”

Sam, despite his wiry frame, is strong—he was fit enough for the Garrison to approve him for space travel and he just spent the better of a year working in mining and logging. His size is deceptive. It’s a Holt trait. He uses his grip on Takashi’s shoulder to spin the taller man to face him and pins him with a gaze lined with steel. Takashi looks nothing less than stunned, which Sam knows is the main reason he was so easily able to manhandle the, in all honesty, warrior before him.

“None of this is your fault, and you are not _weak_. Takashi, you are one of the strongest beings I have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

Takashi’s eyes are wide, his jaw dropped just a bit in utter astonishment, and there’s a faint creep of red blooming across his cheeks. Sam shakes his shoulder for emphasis and adds, “And I am not your commander, anymore, Takashi. Please call me Sam.”

“I…but…” Sam hasn’t seen Takashi this unsure or at a loss for words since he managed to corner the boy in private to congratulate him on the Kerberos mission. It makes him look years younger. Younger even than the age he should be.

“My boy, you have been through a severe trauma. What the Galra did to you…they committed the worst kinds of war crimes. You are not at fault for how your brain has responded to that trauma. It’s natural. The only one at fault, for _any_ of this, are the Galra,” he insists even as Takashi shakes his head. Agitated, the Black Paladin yanks himself away from Sam and brings his hands up to rake though his hair, pulling at it in frustration.

“I can’t even remember most of what they did! I can’t remember what _I_ did that year. For _three years_! I did terrible things, Commander Holt, I know I did. When we free prisoners and they recognize me, they call me _Champion_ and they’re scared!” Takashi pulls back further and gestures emphatically, but the movements are sharp, jerky, entirely unlike his usual smooth grace. “I talked to Matt, and those prisoners that that ended up in the work camp with you. I know there are months missing. What did I do? I’ve tried to remember, and I just can’t. I can’t remember. Until we’re in the middle of a fight and I put my team in danger by freezing up or not warning them about something I should have known, if I’d just _remembered_.”

“Takashi—“ Sam tries, reaching out to the distressed man. Takashi jerks away.

“They shouldn’t even be here. But they are, because I told them to. And now I’m their leader. I have to watch out for them and protect them. They’re not supposed to have to protect me. They’re not supposed to get hurt. It’s _my_ _fault_ that Keith almost _died_!”

The last comes out as a shout and that’s _enough_. “Takashi,” Sam snaps, and his former pilot’s spine springs to attention, stiff and straight although Takashi remains facing away from him.

“It is the Galra’s fault, _not_ yours. You try to protect them, yes, because that’s what a team does. That is what _family_ does. But you are not always going to be successful and you do not get to decide for them what they choose to fight for. Even if that is you. You don’t get to say what they believe is worthy of their protection. You get to lead them in battle. And that’s it.”

“Commander Holt—“ Takashi starts, quickly cut off by a firm, “Sam.” He pauses, taken aback, but presses on determinedly. “Sam. I’m the Black Paladin. I have to be their leader, yeah, but I also got them into this. They were rescuing me, and I told Lance to fly into the wormhole. I’m the one constantly failing them and putting them in danger.”

It’s like Takashi is desperate for Sam to know the worst of him.

Sam shakes his head. “They chose to rescue you, to listen to you, to _trust_ you. And they _choose_ to stay. Katie is my daughter, and I’ve been getting to know the other members of your team. They are all strongly opinionated, fiercely loyal, and stubborn people. If they didn’t want to be here, they wouldn’t stay. Part of being a good leader is respecting your team’s decisions and recognizing them as individuals.”

“I _do_ ,” Takashi protests, but Sam doesn’t let him say more. Not yet.

“ _Even_ when you don’t agree with their decisions. You have to _listen_. There are times you need to be obeyed without question, yes, but when they don’t have an explicit order, you must allow them to act within their best judgment. This isn’t the Garrison.” He softens his tone, finishing gently, “You can’t order them not to care about you, Takashi.”

The pained look is back on Takashi’s face, and he looks away, unable to meet Sam’s eyes. This boy. He tries a different tack.

“Do you blame me?” It’s a dangerous question, considering some of the thoughts Sam himself wrestles with at times, but it’s necessary.

“What?” Takashi blurts out, flabbergasted at the apparent change in subject.

Sam patiently repeats the question, clarifying, “I was you commander for the Kerberos mission, when we were attacked by the Galra and captured. You were the one to recognize the danger of the ship and tell us to run. You were concussed trying to negotiate our freedom. You sacrificed yourself to spare my son and suffered three additional years of torture on top of our initial interrogation, when I could not sufficiently answer their questions to get them to let us go. And, while Matt and I suffered during our imprisonment, you went through hell, lost a limb, and still ended up rescuing _us_. I was meant to be your leader, and by all rights, I failed you. Is it my fault I couldn’t prevent this?”

“No!” Takashi exclaims, completely aware of the ploy but seemingly unable to allow the idea to stand. “Of course it’s not, but these are entirely different situations.”

“Oh? How so?” Sam asks mildly. He is married to Dr. Colleen Holt. His children are Matt and Katie. Sam knows how to win his point against people too clever for their own good. Takashi is a brilliant boy, but he doesn’t stand a chance. The Kerberos mission should have taught him not to argue, honestly, but Takashi has always been too stubborn to give up.

“You couldn’t have known about the Galra, and no matter what we said or did, they weren’t going to let us go. There _was_ no way to stop any of it. But I know what they’re capable of. We’re in a war now, not on a research mission.”

“Exactly,” Sam says. Takashi jerks as if he had just tripped while standing perfectly still.

“What?” he asks, completely nonplussed.

“Takashi, you are in a war now. All of the Paladins know and agreed to this. That means they accepted the risks that come along with being a defender of the universe, including being injured. On Kerberos, you would not have blamed me if we had equipment failure or something went wrong. Now, you cannot blame yourself for unexpected obstacles, even if they come from your own mind. Keith made this choice. Don’t disrespect him by blaming yourself. He wouldn’t want that.”

With each words Sam says, Takashi slumps just a little bit more, and he refuses to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam’s heart aches in compassion.

“He’s like a little brother to me,” Takashi admits, softly. “Pidge told us you said that your crew became like family, and it’s true.” He flashes a quick glance up at Sam, turning pink, and Sam is both touched and amused. Like he could be anything but proud and humbled that Takashi views him as family. “It was hard, knowing you and Matt were out there but that I couldn’t go find you. And the other Paladins, well, they’re family, too. But Keith,” his voice turns helpless and he shrugs, meeting Sam’s eyes finally and practically begging him to understand, “I’ve known Keith for so long now. I’ve seen him grow and change, and I just…”

Sam understands. He really does. He doesn’t envy Takashi this burden. Not saying a word, he simply reaches out, projecting every movement, and pulls the young leader into his arms. There’s a brief resistance, but then the Black Paladin is wrapped in his embrace, head hanging low.

As much as he had wanted to, Sam hadn’t hugged Takashi following their rescue. He had recognized the boy was too raw and vulnerable at the time for that level of physical contact from Sam, from his commanding officer. He had needed some sort of stability then.

Which means that the last time Sam had had Takashi in his arms like this was when an eager young officer had appeared at his door, vibrating with excitement. His unmarked face had been flushed with pride and pleasure, the notice awarding him the pilot position on the Kerberos Mission clutched with reverence in his hand. Sam had swept him into a hug which was returned enthusiastically but gently, the strong grip sure around the older man’s back. He had been a young man aspiring to achieve all of the great things that he was clearly capable of.

Takashi had smiled, honest and wide, “Thanks, Dr. Holt.” His smile had stretched wider, eyes practically twinkling, “ _Commander_ Holt.” And then he’d darted further into the house, springing up the stairs and calling for Matt. Katie’s door had slammed shut in the ensuing ruckus.

That memory jars against the Takashi in his arms now. He is substantially bigger—no taller, but broader, more muscular, all hard planes and tension. Sam’s arms no longer fit easily around his frame. There’s no twinkle of mischievousness or joy, just worry and exhaustion, the burden of a universe resting on his shoulders. One arm is just slightly chilled, without any of the natural give of flesh.

But, his grip is strong and gentle, perhaps more hesitant but still sure. Still full of that same greatness.

Sam tightens his hold, and then steps back, leaving both of his hands on Takashi’s shoulders. The Black Paladin meets his eyes steadily.

“Whatever doubts you have about yourself, Takashi, you are a great leader. Your team trusts you. You inspire them and have led them through some seemingly impossible situations. They believe in you and in themselves because of your belief and trust in them. They love you. It may be frightening, but that is never a bad thing.” Takashi looks doubtful, but he nods anyway. Even after all this, he trusts Sam’s wisdom and advice. But Sam’s not done.

“You are also a _good_ person. And I’m proud to consider you family.”

Aside from Takashi needing to hear it for his own emotional well-being, Sam wants to tell him how proud he is just for the flush of color that coats his cheeks. Heaven help him, but it’s amusing to see the normally collected young man flustered. One day, it will come without the shadow of doubt across his brows.

Sam pats him on the shoulders and steps back, “Are you going to stay in here?”

Takashi nods, turning back to Keith’s pod. “Just for a little while longer.”

It will take more than one conversation, Sam knows, accepting the response. “Don’t forget to get some rest yourself. Keith will want to see you awake and well.”

Takashi nods again, absentmindedly, and Sam starts towards the door, pausing only at a hesitant, “Sam?” He hums his attention, looking back. Takashi is watching him and gives a small, grateful smile, “Thanks.”

Sam smiles back, “Of course. I’m here for you at any time. I mean it, son.” Takashi nods once more, and turns away. Sam quietly steps out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, I had to break Shiro a little bit. And then I had to break Keith some more, because hurting Shiro wasn't getting the right amount of vulnerability. I should have known hurting the other paladins was the best way to do that. 
> 
> I love Sam Holt, even though we've barely seen him. Less than Matt, really. It's obvious that Shiro really admires him, though, and I want them to have all of the conversations that Shiro so desperately needs to have. Also I wanted hugs. 
> 
> Fun times: Coran tried so hard to hijack Sam's discussion with Shiro. He apparently has some stuff he needs to work out regarding Allura's capture and how he reacted to it, and he wanted to talk it out with Sam. 3 pages later and he wouldn't stop, but I was getting derailed, so I had to cut him out almost completely (and then go back and hurt Keith even more). Maybe one day I'll revisit their conversation, because I love the idea of them as friends. 
> 
> Anyway. Thank you for reading! Comments make me super happy and are ridiculously appreciated. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at thehouseofthebrave if you want to send anonymous questions or just talk. :D (If you want to reblog and share this, too, I wouldn't say no...)
> 
> (I hope to get the third chapter out next Friday, but we'll have to see how work and didactics go. It might be a little late)


	3. On the Formation of the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team finally gets a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aka in which Shiro is the force that holds everyone together and provides a center to their orbits. 
> 
> Welcome to the most metaphorical chapter in discussing how gravity works. It's really just a self-indulgent fluffy chapter of letting the world revolve around Shiro for a bit. Without hurting him, for once.
> 
> Sorry I'm a day late. Pidge fought me and I just couldn't make things work. Add 16 hours in the ER working and my editing/writing tanked.

Shiro blinks his eyes open valiantly, only for them to start their slow, heavy downward descent again. For all that the past few days have been fairly quiet, taken up by the resumption of their meetings with the Raxicalli rebel leaders and some light training, Shiro is bone weary. He can sleep later, though. Right now, Pidge is telling him about a new project she, Matt, and Hunk are working on.

He wants to listen. He does. It’s an interesting idea and while he doesn’t understand all the nuances, he’s still a scientist, and Matt is one of his best friends—he’s developed more of an interest in the technical side of things over the course of their friendship. He enjoys it, and he enjoys their enjoyment.

Shiro’s eyes drift closed, and he forces them open at the belated recognition of silence. Pidge has stopped talking. Ah, shit. Did she ask a question?

He focuses on her face and is relieved to see raised eyebrows and a smirk—laughing at him is better than offended. He grins sheepishly.

“Tired, Shiro?” she asks, cheekily, one brow rising higher than the other as she tilts her head just so. Shiro knows a Holt challenge when he sees one, and that’s enough to send a slight burst of energy through his veins. He runs a hand over his face and through his hair, shaking himself into more awareness.

He levels a smile back at Pidge and blatantly lies, “Nope. I’m good.”

Laughter sounds out from behind them, and Shiro cranes his neck to see Lance and Hunk wandering into the room. Hunk is carrying a tray with six mugs on it, and Lance already has a blue one in his hands.

“Boring Shiro to sleep, Pidge?” Lance chirps, tumbling over the back of the couch and somehow managing not to spill a drop. Shiro is impressed. Hunk more sensibly walks around the couch as Lance slurps obnoxiously at Pidge, smirking over the rim of his mug.

Pidge bristles, shifting in her seat, and Shiro tenses slightly, unsure if the response is going to be verbal or physical. As she opens her mouth, though, a green mug appears in front of her face, causing her to blink and jerk back instead. She takes in the hand holding the drink, then follows the arm it’s attached to up to Hunk’s smiling face.

Pidge grins back and reaches up to take the mug, “Thanks, Hunk.” Even as she takes a sip, she shoots a sharp glare at Lance out of the corner of her eye. Lance leans back on the couch into Shiro’s personal space and drinks on, unconcerned.

“Here, Shiro,” Hunk says, handing over the black mug. Shiro accepts it with murmured gratitude, inspecting it as soon as it’s safely in his hands. The liquid inside is a dark blue and smells like nothing Shiro can properly identify. He’s amused to find the Black lion’s face stamped onto the side, and a quick glance around shows the other mugs all also have their lions on them.

Hunk activates one of the little hover robots, releasing it from a compartment under the couch and placing the tray on top of it once it reaches a convenient height next to them. He lifts his own cheery yellow mug from the tray and flops down on Shiro’s other side, taking a deep drink as he leans back, content.

“What are we talking about?” he asks, looking around the small group. Pidge opens her mouth to answer, but Lance beats her to it.

“Pidge is—“ he starts before Shiro then cuts _him_ off, not willing to be in the middle of whatever fight that would cause.

“Pidge is telling me about your new project. You came up with the idea?” Hunk lights up and Pidge drags her glare away from Lance to look back to Shiro, excitement drowning out her annoyance.

“Well, it was a group thing. I just thought that if we took her cloaking tech, we could—“

“Keith!” Lance bursts out, interrupting Hunk mid-sentence. “Get in here!”

They all turn their heads to see Keith frozen in the doorway, clearly caught in the act of silently sneaking back out. Shiro frowns—he hadn’t even noticed Keith come in. He must be more tired than he thought.

“I, uh,” Keith says, hesitating from coming in or leaving and looking torn as to which seems the more appealing option. “I was just looking for Shiro. I can find you later.”

Shiro straightens, turning more fully so he can face Keith, with one arm now on the back of the couch and the other still holding his drink, “What’s up?” He studies Keith’s face for a minute, debating whether he should get up and find somewhere private to talk. While the younger boy is reluctant to enter, he’s meeting Shiro’s eyes just fine, standing straight backed and sure. Nothing is ringing any immediate alarm bells.

Shiro’s gaze drifts down towards Keith’s right side, and he notices Keith twitch before Hunk jostles him as the big man scrambles up off of the couch and hurries over to Keith.

“No, you should come in and hang with us, man!” He presses the red mug that he must have grabbed into Keith’s hands, throwing a sturdy arm around their flustered teammate and guiding him over to the couch. Eyes wide, Keith catches the mug in both hands and doesn’t put up resistance as Hunk shepherds him into the group.

Shiro gives a small shrug and smiles encouragingly at him, and the corners of Keith’s mouth quirk up in return.

“Yeah, Keith, stop being an emo loner,” Lance jibes as Hunk pushes Keith into his former spot next to Shiro and then sits down directly next to him. It’s close enough that Shiro’s sure Keith isn’t entirely comfortable with it, but far enough away that Hunk’s not completely destroying Keith’s comfort zone. Even so, Keith inches slightly to his right so that the warmth of his side is pressed up against Shiro. “And drink your space cider, Shiro. It’s better when it’s warm.”

Space…cider? Shiro exchanges a look with Keith, raising an eyebrow, but dutifully takes a taste. He immediately hums in pleasure, drinking again more deeply. It doesn’t taste much like any fruit he remembers from Earth, but it has the same sort of spicy, fruity kick to it that cider does. It’s delicious.

“This is amazing, Hunk,” he praises, wonder in his voice. Keith nods along in agreement, curling more around the warmth of the mug in his hands. Shiro shifts the arm still resting along the back of the couch forward just a little so that it presses lightly against the red paladin’s back. The last bit of tension in Keith’s shoulders eases out at the touch, and he relaxes back into the couch. “What would we do without you?”

“We’d have to eat food goo and Coran’s cooking,” Pidge says, leaning back and bracing herself with one arm on the ottoman she’s perched on, while simultaneously taking another drink and kicking her feet up into Shiro’s lap.

“Starve,” Lance corrects and reaches over to tickle Pidge’s sock-covered foot. She yanks her leg away, which forces Shiro to jerk his mug out of the way or risk spilling it all over himself and ends up nearly nailing himself in the face. “Whoops, sorry, Shiro,” Lance says, bright grin on his face revealing his utter lack of real remorse.

Levelly staring at Lance out of the corner of his eye until the blue paladin’s grin turns at least somewhat sheepish, Shiro then lets it go and turns back to a blushing but pleased Hunk.

“They’re not wrong.” Hunk’s smile grows, and he rubs the back of his neck, fidgeting at the attention. Keith gently knocks his arm with an elbow, not saying anything more but taking a pointed sip of his space cider.

“Thanks, guys. I’m glad to be your food guy.”

Lance cheers, looking up from where he was continuously poking Pidge’s foot to see how long it would take her to snap, “Yeah you are! Saving the universe with Space Lions and gourmet food. What can’t he do?”

“Thanks, Lance,” Hunk repeats, smile now blinding.

“Are we having a team love fest? Because I want next,” Pidge snarks at Lance, who has resumed the occasional poke at her feet. She’s going to kick him soon, but Shiro can feel the tiredness settling back around his shoulders and can’t be bothered to prevent it. Lance knows what’s coming, and Pidge is fairly good at targeted revenge.

“I’m just saying what everybody already knows,” Lance replies, finally stopping just before Shiro was sure he was in for it. Lance leans back and raises his hands, smirk on his face as he lists off, “Keith brings the mullet, you have tiny adorable feet, Shiro has his speeches, and I bring the looks, charm, and charisma.” He finishes off the list with a flourish and a wink.

Pidge bristles again, spluttering, “ _Tiny feet_ ,” before she leaps off her ottoman and onto Lance, somehow getting behind him and wrapping her legs around his chest while pulling him into a headlock. Lance lets out a _grrrk_ and topples sideways, rolling onto his back in an attempt to squish her as his (thankfully empty) cup tips off the couch.

Keith, Hunk, and Shiro burst into laughter, leaning away from Lance’s flailing limbs.

“ _What_ is going on in here?” Allura exclaims from the doorway. Lance and Pidge freeze, and Shiro allows his head to drop onto the back of the couch, lolling it to face the princess and Coran, smile still stretching wide across his face. She and Coran are standing in the entrance way, faces hosting identical raised brows, rounded eyes, and slack jaws. Noticing all the attention, Allura quickly regains a poker face, lifting one hand to cover her delicately faked cough.

Coran doesn’t bother. “Is this some sort of Earthling mating ritual?” he asks, fascinated, but Shiro can see the twinkle in his eye. He laughs again with Hunk and Keith when Pidge and Lance both choke in outrage, protesting loudly over each other as they scramble to disentangle. Shiro is fairly certain that Pidge purposely plants her elbows in strategic places a few times as she moves.

Once they have successfully put at least a few feet of distance between them, Pidge and Lance settle back into comfortable positions around the couch. Lance flops into his original spot at Shiro’s side, leaning heavily onto the older man and resting his pointy chin on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro shoots him a look, both eyebrows up in question, and Lance simply grins up at him.

That’s fine. Shiro mentally shrugs and gives it up as not worth the fight—he’s not actually that uncomfortable. It’s almost nice.

Pidge studies the couch thoughtfully for a moment before shoving the ottoman away and sitting on the floor at Shiro’s feet, resting back against his legs. Her head tilts back onto his knees, and she gives him a cheeky smile. Shiro grins down at her, and she settles more fully, lifting her head up and pulling a small piece of something from her pocket that she then begins to fiddle with.

Allura clears her throat again, drawing Shiro’s attention back to the Alteans still in the doorway. Coran’s hands are clasped in front of his chest and a look of utter delight lights his face. Allura is more subtle, the edges of her mouth curving up, but her eyes shine at what she clearly finds to be an adorable plateau.

“Did you need something, Princess?” Shiro asks.

“Nothing pressing,” she replies, shaking her head, “We can discuss it at a later time, since you don’t seem like you are going anywhere, currently. Coran and I will—“

“Oh!” Hunk interrupts, “Here! I almost forgot.” He clambers to his feet, jostling everyone as they all feel the effects of the disruption of their tight quarters. He grabs two of the remaining mugs from the hovering tray and brings them over to the Alteans.

Coran accepts his with his typical flair, taking a deep whiff, “Ah! The buckleberry fruit! What a delightful treat. Thank you, Hunk.”

Allura takes hers with a softer smile and murmured gratitude, sipping delicately and with a pleased smile curling on her lips.

“You guys should come sit with us,” Hunk says, making his way back to the Paladin pile on the couch now that the drinks have been delivered.

Allura eyes the mass of bodies doubtfully, and Lance jumps in, perking up and exclaiming, “Yeah, come on Coran, Princess. We deserve an afternoon off. We can play sleepover games.” He waggles his eyebrows at Allura, “You can sit by me.” He pats the seat next to him and winks extravagantly. Shiro subtly digs his elbow into the flirt’s side.

Wincing minutely, Allura walks over regardless. “Thank you, Lance, but I think I shall sit over here,” she says, perching regally on the opposite couch. Coran seats himself on the other end of her couch.

“What are these ‘sleepover games’?” he asks, making air quotes with his fingers. Shiro has no idea where he learned that. He used to be able to blame Lance for the more ridiculous Earth-specific gestures and idioms Coran would use, but now he suspects that Sam is also contributing to it. When he’d caught Sam teaching Coran the Star Fleet salute (probably to combat Lance’s lesson on “the Force is with you” as a traditional Earth farewell), Shiro had been shocked.

And then he’d wondered why that had surprised him so much. Shiro knows Matt and Katie.

Keith nudges him gently in the side, and Shiro rolls his head lethargically in his direction. Keith gives him a concerned look, “You okay?”

Shiro hums an affirmative, “Yeah. Just thinking.” It’s not a lie. He’s warm and comfortable and…content right now. It’s a good day. He nudges Keith back and smiles at him, receiving a small smile in return.

And then he tunes back into the others animated discussion about sleepover games just in time to catch Lance suggesting, “Either truth or dare or spin the bottle! We have to do one of the classics!”

“No,” he shoots down immediately, “Nope. We’re not doing that.” This is not a truth-picking group, and he is not dealing with a series of escalating dares tonight. It’s not going to happen. And spin the bottle is just no.

Lance pouts but gives in easily, “What about charades?”

Allura lights up, and this time it’s Hunk who protests, pointing accusingly at Allura and then Lance, “No, nu-uh, no fair. I know you two practice with the space mice. That’s basically cheating.” Keith shifts subtly, and Shiro studies him out of the corner of his eye. He looks…disappointed? A grin lights up his face—Keith has been making friends with Allura’s mice. He’d wanted to play charades, too.

Keith catches Shiro looking and flushes, which only serves to confirm it.

Good. Keith deserves more friends.

Shiro misses the next idea-and-veto as he lets out a jaw-cracking yawn that he can’t hold back. He’s more tired than he’d thought.

“Then what’s _your_ suggestion, huh?” Lance says, hands thrown up in the air as he falls back with a huff, landing partway on Shiro. The older man looks at him, amused, but Lance isn’t even fazed, glaring at the rest of them.

The hairs on the back of Shiro’s neck start to rise, sending a shiver down his spine, but when he glances around the room, no one is paying him any attention. He shrugs it off.

“Let’s do a music night,” Hunk suggests, an undercurrent to his tone that Shiro can’t identify. The way he’s adjusting his headband seems casual, but there’s also _something_ deliberate to it. Shiro can’t figure it out, but he’s suspicious, especially when Lance jumps on board immediately with the plan, to Keith’s obvious chagrin.

Hunk catches onto Keith’s reluctance quickly, cutting off any verbal protests by firmly saying, “Uh uh, don’t give me that, Keith. I’ve heard you sing. I’ve heard all of you sing. We are musically inclined and no one is getting out of it.”

Keith huffs and slouches down further, going red, before realization hits him and he flails forward, “Wait, what? No, you haven’t! Where have you heard me sing?”

Lance starts laughing like he knows what’s coming, and Shiro suspects the answer as Hunk eyes Keith with a bland look on his face, clearly insinuating it’s obvious, “Duh. In the shower. Everyone on the team does it. Even Shiro, sometimes.” Now it’s Shiro’s turn to blush, even though it’s honestly not that embarrassing.

“You listen to us in the shower?” Keith exclaims, unwilling to let this go. Hunk gives him another look and shrugs.

“You guys are good. And only when you’re singing. I really don’t need to listen to anything else.” At this last point, he raises an eyebrow at Lance, who flushes but covers it with a smirk and, ugh, Shiro didn’t need to have that confirmed.

Pidge lets out a gag at his feet, “Gross.”

“I would love to hear some of the songs from Earth,” Allura cuts in, looking both lost as to what, exactly, they are talking about and as if she is sure she doesn’t want to know. It’s probably wise. Coran is watching them all with a calculating look that Shiro does not want to interpret.

“Where are Matt and Sam?” Shiro realizes, “They do a great duet of the Two of Us.”

Pidge shrugs, flopping her head back onto his lap, “Some project with rocks. Not very interesting.”

Of course they would use the chance of downtime to do some research. Shiro’s not sure why he asked.

Lance frowns, staring up at the ceiling in thought, “Some of these songs aren’t the same without the instruments. And the translators make others…not as pretty? We can try, though. It won’t be the same.”

“We have an agreement!” Coran says, clapping his hands. “Who is going first?”

“I’ve got one,” Lance snaps his fingers in revelation. “My dad used to sing it to me when I was younger.” His eyes drift closed in memory, and he hands dance in front of him, painting the scene, “You gotta imagine it with a guitar and some percussion. It’s supposed to be in Spanish, too, but you probably won’t hear that.” He frowns again, and then rallies, opening his eyes and leveling an honest, if small, smile around at all of them.

Then he sings, “ _I will never be able to die, I don’t have my heart with me. Someone is waiting for me, they’re waiting for me to go back there.”_ The song is slow and sweet, full of a longing that Shiro feels deep in his chest. He hears the words in English, but they have that particular roll around the edges of them that comes when Lance is speaking Spanish. He wonders If Lance knows they can tell when he’s slipped into Spanish, or if he thinks the translators mask it completely.

He wonders if Lance knows they can use it as a gauge for how much he is missing home and his family at any given time.

Shiro settles in to listen, relaxing back into the couch

When he finishes, there are suspiciously bright eyes all around the room, and he sniffles at Shiro’s side. Shiro wraps his arm around him.

Allura wipes at her eyes and compliments in a slightly choked voice, “That was lovely, Lance.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, flashing a less dazzling version of his usual smile at her. Silence sets in.

“I’ll go next,” Keith says, surprising Shiro at his willingness. Keith is usually pretty shy about singing in front of others, regardless of how nice his voice is. When he starts, Shiro doesn’t recognize the song, which isn’t exactly a surprise considering Keith’s penchant for leaving the radio on and picking up whatever new song is playing with shocking ease. It’s probably from his missing time on Earth.

Whatever it is, it’s pretty. Slow, but less melancholy than Lance’s. Shiro closes his eyes and just listens.

Hunk goes next, bemoaning the lack of his ukulele. “You’re right, Lance, it won’t be the same.” He sighs heavily, but gives it up for a lost cause, “My mom used to sing this to me every night as a kid. She said my grandmother used to sing it to her, too.” He takes a breath, and then begins, “ _farewell to thee, farewell to thee, the charming one who dwells in the shaded bowers.”_

There’s an extra musical quality to some of the words that isn’t there for others, and Shiro distantly registers that the song must be a mix of another language and English. He wonders at that for a moment, before brushing it off to listen.

Hunk has a nice voice. Shiro hums in pleasure, sinking even deeper into the couch.

This was a good idea. He has a good team.

Allura’s soft voice breaks through the sudden silence, but Shiro can’t distinguish the words, just susurrus of noise before another voice rises in a melodic tune and slowly fades away.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Pidge runs into her dad and brother on her way back to the lounge from the extra storage room she, Hunk, and Lance had found, her arms piled high with blankets. Matt’s face is freshly washed, the edges of his hair along his forehead still damp. Sam’s eyes are red-rimmed but clear.

They must be done “studying the chemical composition of rocks”.

Matt eyes the pile in her arms and raises an eyebrow, “cold?”

Pidge scoffs. She’s never cold. “They’re for Shiro and Keith,” she says. Her dad’s eyebrows fall into a furrow while Matt’s jump for his hairline in excellent juxtaposition.

“Shiro asked you to get blankets for him?” Matt splutters out while Sam asks, concerned, “Are they still not feeling well?”

Pidge shrugs at her dad, “Not that they’ll ever admit, but they’re definitely more tired than usual. And of course he didn’t.” Matt shouldn’t have even needed to ask. Shiro never asks for anything. “We just got him down for a nap and figured blankets might help—either the warmth or the weight.”

Sam and Matt exchange startled glances, and then Matt bursts into laughter.

“You put Shiro in naptime? How does that even work?” he asks incredulously, “How did you get him to agree to that?”

“He didn’t,” she says. It sounds like ‘duh’. “We had to trick him into it—sang him to sleep.”

Matt laughs even harder, and Pidge drops the blankets to the ground with a dull _flump,_ leaping forward to slap her hands over his mouth. They’re not _that_ far from the lounge, and sound carries in the Castle. She presses in close to hiss up at him, “If you wake him up, I swear…”

The threat dangles unspoken. Matt knows to be afraid, and it won’t stunt her vengeful creativity later if she needs to follow through. Matt _will_ regret it if he wakes Shiro up.

He licks her hand and when that just leaves her unimpressed, physically pushes it away. There’s no remorse in his eyes as they shine in amusement behind his glasses. Pidge regrets returning them, sometimes—it’s a lot harder to glint menacingly at someone without them.

“ _You_ sang him to sleep?” he asks with laughter still in his voice. “Katie, the poor guy already has nightmares.”

She shouldn’t have let him push her hand away.

Pidge glares at him, crossing her arms and absolutely not pouting. Sam sighs somewhere behind her. When Matt continues to snigger at her, Pidge doesn’t hesitate to punch him in the arm.

“ _I_ didn’t, you jerk,” she says, fists held up in case he says something else. She knows she doesn’t have the best singing voice. He doesn’t need to _always_ point it out. Matt’s hands come up in surrender, and Pidge settles back a little, relaxing from her attack posture. “Actually,” she continues thoughtfully, “Lance, Hunk, and Keith all have surprisingly good voices.”

Lance she knew. He comes in and sings to Blue when their Lions are all sharing a hanger. She’s started making a chart to keep track of his mood and musical choices. She just needs a few more data points for statistical relevance to her conclusions.

Hunk and Keith were the surprise, because _she_ doesn’t stalk people in the shower.

She really should consider booby trapping against Hunk. He gets into everything. How do people guard against raccoons?

Pidge is surprised out of her thoughts when Matt slings an arm around her shoulders. She starts and blinks up at him.

“Remember when you avoided Shiro at all costs?” he reminisces. “Now you’re getting him to sleep and bringing him blankets. Should I be worried you’ve replaced your dear older brother?”

Pidge sticks her tongue out at him, “You were both loud. You disrupted my process.” She pokes him in the side, “And yes. He’s a walking scientific phenomenon. Definite upgrade.”

Matt’s arm shifts to turn his casual hold into a headlock and she laughs, pushing at him to let her go. He does, but not without ruffling her hair first.

When she looks up, though, with a wide smile on her face, there’s sadness in his eyes. Taken aback, Pidge looks around for Sam. They were just joking. The team is like family to her, yes, but Matt’s her _brother_.

Her dad was the one who said his crew became like family to him!

The same sadness is on Sam’s face, which causes Pidge to pause and reconsider. Maybe Matt wasn’t taking her seriously on replacing him, then—she did spend a year and a half looking for them, after all. She replays what she said again in her head and—oh.

Pidge glances down and away at the floor, going cold. She forgets, sometimes, that Shiro’s arm was forced on him and that, before all this, he’d had two of his own. She also forgets that he lost 3 years of his life and is trying to deal with that, because he hadn’t even suspected it.

Not like she had.

She thought being on Team Voltron was helping her improve her people skills, but maybe not.

Silently, Pidge holds her arms out to take the blankets back from Sam, who’d picked them up while she and Matt were play-fighting. She’s going to at least do this one thing for them.

Sam hands them over and, despite her mistake, his smile is small and proud. It warms her just a little.

As she turns to head back to the lounge, she stops, realizing, “Where were you guys going?”

It looked like they were heading to the same place as her, but the storage room is a fair distance from the lounge, so there are other possibilities.

Matt and Sam exchange a look over her head, and Pidge bristles at the idea they’re not going to tell her. She’s a Paladin of Voltron fighting in an intergalactic war now. She’s not a kid. Whatever they’re trying to keep from her, she can handle it.

Before she can build up the bluster for an argument on how they used to trust her with things back home, Matt shrugs and says simply, “We were going to force Shiro to talk to us. He’s been avoiding talking about any of this except for once with Dad, and he really needs to. If he won’t start the conversation, I will.”

The last part is said mostly to himself, voice lined with steel and annoyance. He sets his shoulders back like he’s preparing to confront Shiro head-on and drag it out of him if necessary. The prospect of Matt physically forcing Shiro into anything is laughable, but Pidge can admire his drive.

Plus, if anyone can force Shiro to talk, it’s going to be either Sam or Matt. Maybe Keith, but not in the same way.

Pidge shrugs, reaching up to adjust glasses that aren’t there and scratching her cheek instead. She says in all honestly, “Good luck.”

Matt deflates from his Garrison-perfect posture and cracks a smile, “Right?”

Sam just shakes his head at both of them, “I suppose we’ll have to wait if Takashi is sleeping. Heaven knows that boy doesn’t get enough. I’d be loath to interrupt it.”

Pidge hums in agreement—that’s why they’d all planned to get him to sleep in the first place. She’s still annoyed her Plan A, “talk him to sleep”, didn’t work.

“You should come hang out with us while we wait for them to wake up, then,” she says, ignoring the surprised looks on their faces. “Keith and Shiro are hopefully going to be asleep for at least a few hours, so we were going to take the afternoon off and relax.”

The theory is that if Shiro wakes up and finds everybody else relaxing, he’ll feel less guilty for getting the sleep that he needs instead of working on something else.

Pidge doubts the theory will hold up in practice, but she’s willing to give it a shot. She could do worse than spending an afternoon with her second family.

She _would_ do worse for Shiro.

She knows that he sometimes sees that potential in her and Keith, and that it worries him. He worries over what they would do or sacrifice for him.

The difference is that Keith could possibly get himself killed for Shiro, but he keeps the bigger picture in mind, even when it might hurt. He’d sacrifice himself, but he might not give up the whole universe to save Shiro.

Pidge might. Family is important to her, and she would raze a planet if needed to save them. She hopes it never comes to that, because they would never forgive her. Shiro would never be able to forgive _himself_ , and he would never look at her the same way again.

Pidge is nothing if not self-aware of her own ability for destruction.

Her dad’s hand lands heavy on her shoulder, startling her again out of her thoughts. He’s smiling at her, a familiar tradition in their household of thinkers, but Pidge wonders how he’d feel if he knew what she was thinking.

She wonders which of her parents she got it from.

“That sounds like a good plan. We’ll come with you,” Sam says, and it takes Pidge a couple seconds to remember her offer. Matt throws his arm around her again, using it to guide her down the hall.

“We can tell stories about Shiro before he became Mr. Space Hero so you guys can laugh at him,” Matt suggests.

“We will?” Sam asks, falling into step beside them, brow quirked at his son, “A good number of the stories I know about Takashi involve you, too. Is that the sort you’re looking for?”

Matt winces and Pidge cackles over some of the possibilities. She wonders if there are more from the Kerberos mission. She wonders if Matt’s ever talked Shiro to sleep and if that’s how he built up a resistance to it.

“Ok, maybe not,” Matt says, backing down.

In almost no time at all, they reach the lounge where everyone has broken off into quiet conversations. Hunk has moved from next to Keith to sit beside Lance, who is telling him a story with subdued gestures, cognizant of the arm resting along his shoulders.

Shiro and Keith are still asleep, Shiro’s head tilted forward to rest his chin against his chest. One arm is over Lance, the other around Keith. Keith is pressed against his side, head resting on Shiro’s broad shoulder. Hunk must have moved their mugs.

Allura and Coran are talking in hushed tones on the opposite couch, the mice curled up along Allura’s shoulders and in her lap. Pidge is a little surprised they stayed.

The Holts all split once they get into the room, Sam making his way over to Coran and Allura while Matt goes to sit beside Hunk and Lance. He’s been making an effort to get to know the rest of her team.

Pidge deposits her pile on the ottoman, pulling up the top most blanket to drape over Shiro. The next goes over Keith, and then, just for good measure, she throws the biggest, fluffiest one she can find on top of both of them.

Mission completed for now, she throws another blanket at Lance in response to his puppy dog eyes. Conscious of his movement disturbing Shiro, Lance can’t defend himself and it nails him in the face. He sticks his tongue out at her, and Pidge smirks. Hunk, a much nicer person than her, unfolds it and helps spread it over Lance before he grabs a cheery orange blanket for himself.

Pidge picks a smaller, fuzzy green one and wraps it around herself like a cloak, plopping down into her original spot at Shiro’s feet. She doesn’t lean back against his legs, wary of disturbing him, but she’s comfortable there.

Finally, she pulls out the small device she’d been working on before from her pocket, settles in, and starts to fiddle.

There are definitely worse ways to spend an afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my least favorite chapter, but I got to let Shiro nap and have the team hang out and play with Pidge and Lance's sibling antagonism. So I'm still happy. Ish. Pidge is really hard to write, I found. (I may have spent waaaay longer than I should have debating if third person perspective from a mainly Pidge POV would refer to her as Katie or Pidge. I never actually resolved that debate, I just ran too close to the deadline.) Also, does she remind anyone of Arya? Because I might be projecting some Arya Stark onto her.
> 
> Some final credit to share:  
> I didn't realize why space cider sounded familiar until I remembered BossToaster wrote it into her story [Give Them Shelter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8391862).  
> Hunk's headband adjustment and Lance's immediate agreement are an ode to ButteredOnions and her [The Size of Our Actions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7900642/chapters/18047176). I think. I'm like 90% sure.  
> Buckleberry is, in fact, a nod to one of my favorite lines in Lord of the Rings.
> 
> I went with "descendant of refugees" Lance for this one. His song is "Cuando Sali de Cuba". I listened to the version by Guillermo Portabales on YouTube probably a dozen times while writing this. I'm not sure how far in the future Voltron takes place, or if Cuba is free at the time, but I think of Lance's family as either refugees or immigrants from Cuba. Lance either moved when he was very young, or his parents did. His dad sings this when he's missing Cuba, and Lance fully appreciates now that he's left Earth. He knows exactly what his dad feels in not being able to go home.
> 
> I didn't pick a song for Keith, but recommend listening to Steven Yeun sing, because he really is great. 
> 
> Hunk sang "Aloha Oe", which I know is Hawaiian and not Samoan, but I'm going with he's got family from all over the Pacific Islands. I also fell in love with it in Lilo and Stitch and want to listen to it always. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading and sticking this out with me! I never expected a response (or to write over 20k for this), and am absolutely blown away that people have left comments liking it. Thank you so so much. It puts a crazy big smile on my face, and makes it so much easier to keep writing. 
> 
> As always, find me at thehouseofthebrave on tumblr if you want to chat or anything. THANK YOU!


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